I Would Do Anything
by Arquenniel
Summary: I had brought down a king. I should have been able to win a woman. Any woman. Confidently. ...I sighed. She would rather punch me than smile at me!
1. Chapter 1

I hope you enjoy this oneshot as much as I enjoyed writing it:) It takes place some time after everyone's arrived at Athanarel, near the beginning of Court Duel.

**NOTE**: I've made some changes to the end of this chapter since I posted it. All credit for these changes go to Rayless Night, who pointed out several things that I brushed over. Thank you!

Disclaimer: Sherwood Smith: genius who owns Crown Duel. Me: not.

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Russav's words wouldn't let me be. _I'll make your Countess popular as you ask, Danric; you know I'd do anything for you. But I won't see you sit and leave her be. Something'd changed in you when you came home from that final battle against Galdran, Danric, and I'm no fool. You've fallen, Marquis, and fallen hard._

I knew he was right. I am not one to deny personal truths to preserve my comfort. But the idea of me, in…

I closed my eyes.

…In _love_, yes, _love_, with the only woman who had ever looked as if she wanted to hit me across the face; it was an idea so ridiculous and impossible, it took my breath away. She hated me. Even after the confusions of loyalty were passed, after she realized I had worked my people –and myself–raw to keep her alive…she hated me.

In my mind's eye I saw her at her table in Tlanth, surrounded by her beautiful handiwork, her delicate face alive with ideas and boldness so sweet I could only marvel; remembered how our conversation had flowed, how she had accepted my thoughts and shared her own as if we were perfectly equal.

And then, when I had presented her with the wager on the journey to Athanarel! How shocked she had looked, until her spirit had risen through the surprise to meet my challenge. I could see her face, alluring in its determination, plain as day even now.

This truth remained: I had a wager to collect from a woman as prickly as a pine. I assumed that _she_ assumed that _I_ had forgotten it, but I would never forget the insanity that had struck me and driven me to… _flirt_.

What was I becoming? I had always preferred scheming to coquetry.

My chest twisted painfully. What a morbid tangle. I'd be lucky to get out of this with all my spiritual limbs intact.

There was one thing that never changed as I wrestled with my thoughts: I _wanted_ the prize I had won by beating her to the inn through rain and mud. I wanted her kiss, wanted her to turn her face up to mine with welcome in her blue, blue eyes. But this kiss could not be something I took.

I wanted it to be a gift.

I'd aspired to so much. I'd succeeded, too. Aspired to convince one and all of my airy foppishness. Conspired to bring down a tyrant. To maintain the peace in the wake of de-throning...

Life, I was aspiring to a _crown_!

I thought of the years of mind-wrenching planning, sacrifice, and risk I had borne with my family. How much work it had taken to bring Galdran down! But we had, and Meliara and her brave-hearted backwoodsmen had been the catalyst.

I had brought down a king. I should have been able to win a woman. Any woman. Confidently.

I sighed. She'd sooner punch me than _smile_ at me!

She…so spirited, so bold, so charming. So _alive_. My entire being was suffused with longing for the life she held in her small hands and bright eyes. I dared to think, dared to hope … that if she knew me, she would love me.

The thought was slippery as a wet stone and risky as a cliff. And it felt arrogant. But there it was.

It was clear she could never set eyes on me without an untoward reaction. But what if she didn't _know_ it was me? If undisturbed by the wretched image she held of me, could she fall in love with who I was? I blinked, straightened. She was a wall, but she had to have cracks. Perhaps a peace offering...but if she knew it was from me, she'd infer a dozen things I didn't mean. No. I would have to remain unknown.

Suddenly, pieces began to click into place. I knew that her Name Day was coming up soon. Bran had mentioned it a while ago and I had never forgotten the date he had named. What better time to give a gift than on a Name Day?

But what to give? I knew she appreciated beauty. So I would give her something beautiful. I would be an anonymous hand extending a flower past a prickly barrier to the lovely woman within. If I knew her well enough, she would be intrigued. Perhaps I could lure her out. Perhaps she would feel safe enough to be wooed by a faceless admirer, perhaps she would be content to hand gifts back and forth through her massive facade.

Perhaps she'd bite my hand off.

I almost laughed, but the irony made me sigh instead. When I had impulsively drawn Meliara into that wager, I don't think I quite comprehended what I was aspiring to. This quest, this bid for love in an apparent vacuum, was nothing compared to bringing down a king. It was the campaign of a lifetime. It would take more cunning than anything I'd ever done before, more thought, more time...possibly forever.

But to be able to call her _Mel_, to hear her say _Vidanric _with, perhaps, the smile she saved for those she loved…a groan escaped me.

For I knew with unfathomable, terrible certainty, that to win her, I, the rational, impeccably controlled Marquis, would do absolutely anything.

**Please review! Positive and negative feedback is very welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I wasn't planning on expanding my oneshot, but no sane author denies requests for more, especially an author who would love to write more! Again, I just had fun writing this and I hope you have fun reading it.

Disclaimer: Crown Duel belongs to Sherwood Smith!

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**To Take a Risk **

**_Part 1 of 2_**

_"Kisses should be hard to get." _

I didn't sleep well.

I doubt you can fully comprehend my dislike of those four words. My emotion for those words is, as Count Branaric would delicately say, "Stronger than the reek coming off a cow patty." In fact, _'dislike'_ is not the word. _'Hatred'_ is more on the spot, but as my mother says (always with an endearing imperiousness), "Wise people use strong words sparingly. _Very_ sparingly.'

It is unpleasant to be so blunt, but I'm _very _certain I have the right to use a strong word. I don't think I've slept well since I got involved in my father's plans. The stress is too great. Every time I rise from any bed, I know only one thing: that I didn't sleep well. After a few years of this, say five or six, it begins to wear on a person, and not only physically.

You'll have to forgive this honesty, which sounds childishly plaintive to my own ears (quite a distressing fact for I have a perverse need to be stoic at all times, even when I should be putting my fist through a wall.)

(I also refrain from hitting walls because I cannot help but recognize pitting my knuckles against a solid wood panel as rubbing the fur of Intelligence the wrong way.) (If Intelligence were to be a furry creature, that is.)

As you can see, sleep deprivation brings intellectual tangents and an overuse of parentheses. Dreadful. Perhaps a bit of wine would help...but no. 'It's too easy to turn to wine,' Father always says, 'and wine will render you useless.'

(As you may have guessed, the walls, ceilings, and floors of my home drip with wise parental sayings. I hope to remember each so that I may drown my own offspring with sage words.)

To resume...

Stars forbid that I should become useless, drinking wine and eating cheese all the time. I'd probably sleep well! Where's the grim fortitude in that? No, I shall be grimly organized and you, magnanimous reader, will bear witness.

Following the impeccable form of all correctly written essays, I present to you the _place_ in which I slept badly.

I was at the Inn at Carad-on-Whitewater. I beg you not to think ill of this excellent establishment. I personally favor the Inn, with its windows open to the voice of the river and its merry master, Caraith Medberry, spreading food and happiness wherever he goes.

And now, the _reason_ for which I slept ill. (This isn't coming out so badly as I thought it would.)

Upon touching my cool pillow, my head began replaying a scene that had taken place not a candle before. Most impolitic of it to do so, for it rendered my blankets too heavy and my pillow too lumpy for sleep. I shall present this infamous scene, and I apologize if it deprives you of sleep as it did myself. Though I greatly doubt it will for you are surely more sound-minded than I am.

We had just finished supper. I was sipping the last of my wine, listening to the joyous music coming from belowstairs. Nee rose, her sweet face shining eagerly, and said, "Come! Let's go dance!"

I'd been waiting for this. I glanced at Meliara and saw naked longing in her eyes, but she didn't move.

"Not me," Bran said. "In the saddle all day. I'll finish this," he lifted his wine, "and then I'm for bed." He was the picture of a relaxed lad. He probably slept well, burn him. Forgive my language. (And also know that I beg your pardon because I've been well-trained by my parents, not because I'm feeling contrite.)

"I'll go with you," Meliara said abruptly, and stood in a rustling of green skirts, the nicest skirts I'd ever seen. An image of her dancing bloomed before my mind's eye and a deep pulse of warmth that could not be blamed on the wine spread outward from my chest.

I remembered lifting her onto my horse during her first journey to Athanarel. She had weighed almost nothing. Dancing, I knew she would be as light on her feet as a sprite. I tried to imagine the joy on her face, and realized with a thud that I'd never seen her truly overjoyed.

"Lord Vidanric?" Nee addressed me. "Will you join us?"

I guiltily dismissed my imaginings and glanced from Nee's face to Meliara's. Meliara's delicate profile was turned to the window, rigid with anger. I wasn't surprised. Ever since I had hinted about that blasted letter from the Marquis of Merindar, Meliara become like a cat guarding a spot of sun...in other words, she was ready to bite off my fingers and possibly my head if I came within ten miles of what she considered her territory. Actually, I believe a hundred miles would not be enough distance for her.

You have no idea how depressing that is.

I tried to summon the correct diplomatic response, but Bran saved me. "Keep me company," he urged me. "Don't want to drink all by myself."

_Bless you_, I thought. "Another time," I said to Nee, who led Meliara out the door. My eyes traced Meliara's shoulders and saw they were perfectly relaxed, probably because I wasn't joining them.

I was contented to preserve her happiness. I was also more dismayed than words can express. Part of my mind said _Burn her_ and I gave it a terrible mental slap. Just because the tiny woman was able to untie me and retie me into knots was no reason to turn ungentlemanly. I wouldn't let her take my manners away from me, even if she took everything else.

I drank more wine than I ought to have in an effort to ignore the music coming from below. Every swell in the music increased my desire to see Meliara dancing. When I began to wonder if I could sneak down and spy on her, I hastily retreated to my bedchamber and closed to door too hard. I've never prepared for bed so quickly, and I wished I hadn't because the instant I threw the covers over myself, Meliara's tight expression came back like hay stuck in your shirt.

All I can say is: I didn't sleep well.

There, we have come full circle. I fear I have wearied you with this sappy account. I have certainly wearied myself, but I must continue or sleep will come less willingly this night. I do not ask you to read on, but I must write on with or without you. Do what you will with my pathetic scrawling, dear reader, or neither of us will be able to forgive ourselves later.

Morning arrived. I woke with that raw ache that comes when the body knows it cannot rest any longer and can only cry instead. Fortunately it was cool and the air was so fresh, it could add years to one's life.

I dressed and joined the others for breakfast in our little parlor.

Breakfast was quiet. Nee and Bran kept exchanging smiles and I soon forgot their presence because Meliara ate an apple, and began to lick her fingers in the most adorably maddening fashion. I was in danger of being caught staring when she froze, remembering her manners. Her hands shot into her lap. She flicked a wary glance my way; I made sure I was looking at my plate. She kept her hands in her lap until we left the table and I found this more endearing than almost any action she'd yet inflicted on my poor eyes.

I didn't feel like myself. I felt trapped in the maze that Meliara wears like a cape at all times, half my mind occupied with some unknown problem...in short, how I felt was utterly indescribable so I shall stop trying.

I felt better when I stepped out of the Inn. The overcast sky whispered rain and huge banks of fog were rolling in and out of the gnarled hills, which echoed with the haunting voice of a single bird. Nearby, water dripped off the roof, and the comforting noises of horses and jingling harnesses filled the puddle-spotted courtyard. The servants were packing our baggage onto the carriage, overseen by Master Medberry.

I was donning my gloves, wishing only to ride and clear my head, when Nee and Bran and Meliara joined me.

"I'll go in the rattler with you," Bran told Nee. "Probably will rain and I hate riding on horseback in the wet. And we never get enough time together as it is..."

I knew he and Nee were exchanging a wicked glance as they moved away, but I was too busy examining Meliara. I'd only seen her sitting at the breakfast table, and now I had an unobstructed view of her indomitable, delicate frame. She was wearing a light blue traveling gown and her hair had been put into many braids which wound and twisted and looped and made me want to stare for ten minutes straight, puzzling out the path of each one.

Her face was lifted to the sky, her eyes narrowed. "I'll ride, then," she said. "I don't mind rain-" She cut herself off and her eyes fastened on me. _What did she see? _"You can go in the coach in my place," she said in a flat, strangled voice.

Perhaps it was my weariness. Perhaps it was the way she tried to sound polite. Perhaps it was my desperation to make some sort of bridge between us, a bridge not prickly with hypothetical spears and swords and daggers and other unhappy things.

But I think the clincher was the way she tightened her lips.

Her lips.

Fear not, I'm not about to launch into a sonnet about them - I'm not that eager to humiliate myself. But the gentle curve of her upper lip and the swell of her bottom lip had my heart rate up and Russav's voice speaking in my head.

(I think I'm going to write down all Russav's romantic advice and title it _Treatise on Male-to-Female Interactions for Inept Men, an In-Depth Study by One Rascal Who Knows It All__). _Here is how it would go:

CHAPTER 1: The Kiss

_Kisses should be hard to get. If a lady gives you one too willingly, she's not going to stay around longer than it took her to give into your advances. But do understand: if you want a kiss, you must have it! What's the purpose in wanting if there isn't getting at the end? Now. If it's the right lady, you'll be certain she'll never give her kiss to you. That is why a man must employ all his knowledge of his lovely prey and begin a rigged game. A rigged game ending with the lady giving up this most prized of favors. I can tell you from personal experience that wagers and contests will bring the most success. _

_No, this is not fair to the lady. Too bad for her if she doesn't like it. She should either get rid of her lips or resign herself to the heroic efforts of the poor bloke trying to get at them. Someone has to win. Life isn't fair, you know. _

In one adrenaline-filled moment, I decided to jump off the cliff.

"Never ride in coaches," the words slid from my mouth like honey. "If you want to know the truth, they make me sick. How about a wager?"

She forgot to be angry at me for an instant. "A wager?"

"Yes." I could feel myself smiling like an idiot. I also felt like a cat stalking around a clueless bird. I have never felt anything so wickedly exhilarating and addictive. "Who reaches Jeriab's Broken Shield in Lumm first."

"Stake?" she asked slowly.

"A kiss." How wonderful it was to say that word!

Her eyes went huge. Color flooded her cheeks.

I realized with surprise that she had never been flirted with. On the other hand, I wasn't surprised at all. Who was she supposed to flirt with up there in her secluded kingdom, the trees?

She looked away from me, again taking in the clouds, the puddle-ridden mud. Slowly, her flush faded and her jaw slid minutely forward. She looked at me suddenly. Her blue eyes, blazing with challenge, sent a burning thought through my mind:

_Oh, I know you, Countess Meliara Astair._

"Done," she said tersely, and hurried back inside.

My heart was racing. "Better see about the horses," I said casually, and pulled my cloak up around my neck.

Right before I stepped into the courtyard, I saw Nee watching me. She turned away before I could read her face, but at that moment, I didn't care if Nee had overheard our entire conversation.

_Yes, little bird, I know you very well indeed. _

**Please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I am sorry that this update is so so SO long after the last one. I hope this chapter is worth the wait, and I appreciate your patience very, very much!

Thank you so much to melxvidhearts, Rayless Night, helplessromantic801, Starling Rising, Kopijka4, katie_, _edessa, Wackysocks, FelSong, mollyanonymous, Countess Sasha the Weird, do lo lou, juliette black, Adalon Ithilriel, m, and Silver-Shelter for your wonderful, wonderful reviews!

Disclaimer: _Crown Duel_ belongs to Sherwood Smith

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**To Take a Risk **

**_Part 2 of 2_**

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"Oh, she was going to kill me."

Upon entering the cozy stables, I picked out two ginger-colored mares myself with grim purpose. I made painstakingly sure that they were evenly matched in spirit and size. I observed their saddling with a critical eye. A very critical eye. A very, _very _critical eye. The stable hand started to look nervous.

Upon noticing the lad's tenseness, I felt rather contemptible. I ended up helping him. Now, any fledgling diplomat would've known stepping in would only make the lad more nervous. Sadly for him and myself, I didn't get the note about this. We were spectacularly miserable together, and even made the mares uneasy. I will say nothing more than he was relieved to see me (the stingy noble with obsessive tendencies toward bridles and saddles) leave. I was just as glad to lead the mares free of the stables, sternly ordering my mind to stop flopping around like a dying fish.

Waiting, I breathed the living air and thought through my strategy. I had 'mail' to pick up from two contacts of mine at the first inn Meliara and I would encounter. It was there that we'd change horses...I tried to picture Meliara climbing onto her new mount and waiting politely for me. I almost laughed.

_Little birds never wait for anyone._ _They have attitudes, the feather-puffs. Tottering, gawky storks like myself, however, make stable hands' lives miserable..._

But this particular stork was in his own territory now. I'd managed to pry Meliara from her cage of pine and rock and now the game was mine.

The lone bird was still singing. _I know what you plan to do,_ he seemed to say. I just pushed my hat more snugly onto my head. I hoped it would still be there after this caper.

Gritty footsteps approached and I turned.

I pause now to ask a question: how do they do it? How do women disappear for five minutes, change their clothing, and then waltz out and knock you straight over without even touching you? All I had to do was look at Meliara, in a riding outfit in deep forest green, her fiery hair glowing beneath a smart hat, and I was struck dumb.

Again.

I shall have to ask Russav about this.

As she approached, I could see her eyes surveying the mares' legs, eyes, chests, and tack. I almost smiled my approval. But then she had selected a mare and was mounting up, a little girl climbing up onto the back of a massive animal like it was nothing.

This next part is embarrassing. You may notice my penmanship deteriorating because I hope to confuse you and spare myself...but no. I will write clearly.

The foot I lifted toward the stirrup was the wrong one. Had I not noticed at the last instant, I would have hauled myself up, kicked my mare in the neck, and settled into a commanding view of her hindquarters. Bran would have had ammunition against me for the rest of our lives. I had never aspired to such outstanding brainlessness. Oh how I marveled at myself as I numbly switched feet and swung myself up!

Taking up the reins, I felt better. I was about to gallop off with the woman I loved, alone in the rain and the coming-alive world. For the first time in weeks, I felt no exhaustion.

_Ho_, say you, _nice try at changing the subject. We still remember that you almost mounted backwards. _So do I, my friends, so do I. And I employ several talented assassins. May I therefore trust your silence?

Bran and Nee were getting into the carriage. I studiously ignored them. There was someone far more interesting to look at: Meliara was taking the reins in her small, gloved hands.

She looked at me, cheeks flushed, waiting.

"Let's go," I said, and tapped my mare's sides, squeezing my knees. In a surge of muscle she lunged for the road and I could hear Meliara's right behind me.

Movement becomes a revelation when you've been still for hours. It is like…well, seeing a beautiful woman anew. I could feel the hardness of the cobbles and the occasional softness of mud translated through my mare's body into mine. The trees formed a corridor of brown and green, mostly pines growing out of a carpet of red-orange needles and green-filmed shrubs. The landscape faded into soft white mist on all sides, even the road ahead. Above was a narrow ceiling of gray.

The hooves of Meliara's mount flashed in my peripheral vision. The mare probably felt like she was carrying nothing!

Quickly, Meliara came up beside me. Her green riding habit was drenched and the hair on her pale neck was turning a deep russet. And she was _looking at me_, her mouth open in a merry, astounding laugh. For a moment I was on fire, blue-hot and incandescent. Breathless, confused, I could only turn and stare ahead, my mare's mane slapping me in the face.

That burning feeling was her joyful face being branded on my memory. It's still there, believe me. At last, I knew what joy looked like Meliara-style. I can describe it in one word: addictive.

We remained side by side as the road unrolled before us. I have never felt more content. It was as if my soul had come inside from a winter storm and was stretching out before a blazing fire, tranquil at last. I was disappointed when we reached the next inn.

We'd ridden side-by-side the entire time. We dismounted together. Stable hands brought out fresh mounts and _oh, observe_, they were just as evenly matched as our first ones. It was so pristinely fair, Justice Travil (a local judge in Shevraeth) would just cry into his baby-blue handkerchief.

Brown and Kettlinger, my contacts, met me just outside of the inn, bringing the smell of stew and coffee with them. Brown handed me a bag. "From the Prince," he said.

This would be information gathered from our spies, consolidated and encoded by my father. The bag was fairly heavy. I wasn't overjoyed. "And the transferal of warriors to Athanarel?"

"Almost complete," Kettlinger said with a nod of his graying head. "Commanders Nessaren and Trevel are on their way, and they are the last ones."

"Good." A horse was prancing in the yard at my back. I turned and saw Meliara astride a gray-and-white mottled mare, her posture perfect. I was pleased to see her eyes were on me.

That was when she _stuck her tongue out at me_. Her kitten-nose wrinkled adorably and her blue eyes gave a wicked flash. Then, with a deft pull on the reins and a tap of her heels, she off at an impressive clip.

For a moment, I wasn't sure what to think. Where had _this _Meliara come from? Not that I was complaining...

May I also mention that among her many endearments is the shortness she requires of her stirrups? If I tried to ride with stirrups that short, I'd bruise my chin with my knees.

Come to think of it, _she'd_ bruise my chin with her fist if I let her read that.

Brown and Kettlinger were looking at me strangely. "Anything else, gentlemen?" I asked.

"A few instructions concernin' the bag," Kettlinger said, eyes cautious. "D'you..." he glanced down the road, "have the time, m'lord?"

I straightened, indignant despite myself. "Of course."

Ten extremely painful minutes later I was free. I hurtled out of that inn yard like my life depended on it. Brown and Kettlinger had tried so hard not to show their suspicious amusement as they relayed my father's instructions over cider I didn't touch. Painful, painful, painful!

Sensing my urgency, my mare ate up the road with hungry strides but I knew the road would deliver me to the inn after Meliara. Half a mile down, I turned my mare's head toward the trees and she leaped over a thornbush, landing with a grunt and taking off like the wind.

It was downhill to Lumm, long slopes of pine and deciduous trees giving way more and more often to fields. Together my mare and I performed a dance of endurance and reflexes, exhilaration washing over us with the rain. I had never ridden so recklessly for anything as superfluous as a wager.

It felt _wonderful. _I was strangely proud of myself.

I remembered the night before we left Meliara's home. She'd vanished so softly into the inky trees, leaving me to stand on the highest spire of the Astair castle, my entire being aching to be at her side. _Show me the groves you like. Show me your favorite outcroppings. Show me the secret paths you've discovered. Show me the world you love so that I may fall in love with it, too._

Perhaps I was truly becoming a man. Any man can learn to fight with a sword, to trick others, to live through stress and weariness. But not every man can win the ultimate conquest, the one of love, which really isn't a conquest at all because both sides win.

Life, could I hear Russav laughing!

We crossed an empty bridge. Heart pounding, I leaned back as my mare took a particularly deep plunge into a meadow. _Thud. _My teeth rattled when we landed and then she gathered herself and we flew on. The grass was still yellow and stringy, but green glowed at its roots. The whipping air smelled of dirt and leaves. Lumm was in the distance. I leaned forward and tightened my legs. My mare opened her stride, hooves pounding faster than my pulse, faster than life itself. The vibration was so intense it numbed me. I held on, watching for holes and ridges in the blurred ground that could hurt her.

We covered that meadow in no time, careened through a glen, and then into the outskirts of Lumm. I pulled my mare gently into a trot and we bounced along a quiet street, humming with warmth and adrenaline. My ears felt full.

Jeriab's Broken Shield came into sight and suddenly I was nervous. Meliara was not without cunning and it was possible she'd taken her own shortcut. Was she already there, peering out a window and laughing?

I said goodbye to my spirited mount and swept inside after shaking my cape and hat out. A fresh-faced girl approached me immediately. "Stew, sir? Cider?"

"Both, thank you, but a room first," I said.

She led me upstairs and showed me into a cozy little parlor with a couch, fireplace, and desk. A bedroom branched off one side. The girl curtsied, and began to leave.

"I…" I paused as the girl turned, and then I soldiered on. "I have a companion, a woman. She is rather small, and has red hair. Has she arrived yet?"

"No woman with red hair has arrived, sir," she replied.

"Thank you. But she will. Arrive, I mean." I rubbed my forehead. "When she does, please bring her here."

She curtsied again and was gone with a smile.

I released a sigh of relief. I draped my cloak over a candle sconce and tossed my gloves and hat aside. I dropped the bag next to a desk. Then I sat down and collected myself.

I could safely assume that Meliara would be..._irritated_ at my trickery. Hopefully, she wouldn't throw anything at me. Hopefully, this would remind her that her sense of fairness was uncommon and that she needed to be on her guard. On her guard! She already was, and that was an understatement…

My heart still hadn't calmed down, because I _had_ it. It was mine.

Her kiss.

For a long, long moment I reflected on her lips, heat gently submerging me. I confess: I have Countess Meliara Astair's lips memorized more thoroughly than any map. More than anything, I wanted to memorize them by feel.

Oh, she was going to kill me.

Grinning, I reflected for a while longer. I couldn't take the kiss when she arrived. Even though she agreed to the wager, doing this would be too much like grabbing her and forcing her. If I did something like that, she would kill me.

_She would kill me._ Have I already said that? We keep coming back to my death, burn it.

I made myself sit at the desk and open the bag of letters. Stew and hot cider arrived and I got down to business. Well, I tried. I got through a spectacular three letters because the third stopped me in my tracks. This letter was addressed to my parents, from the Icicle Queen (excuse me, the Marquise of Merindar, Galdran's sister, monster, plotter, liar, murderer, widow spider, crab, ferret, and other kind titles). I scanned over the eloquent phrases and flourished letters, my mind working quickly.

She was grateful to my parents for their kindness, but it was time for her to move on, she said. The Icicle Queen was getting restless. Right on schedule. We needed to heighten the watch on her home. I began to make a note of this with my own quill and ink.

Footsteps thudded in the hallway. I wondered if it was Meliara, and kept writing.

Suddenly someone entered, I looked up, and there she was.

_Do. Not. Laugh!_ was my first thought. The woman who owed me a kiss was absolutely, fantastically _plastered_ with mud. Face. Hat. Hair. Hands. Arms. She probably had fallen off…picturing this made it harder not to laugh. I hoped she hadn't broken anything. Her nose was running and water dripped off almost every available surface. And this isn't mentioning the look on her face, the most hilarious mixture of surprise, anger, and wariness I've ever seen.

I couldn't breathe.

She crossed her arms, eyes hardening. Her gritty lips puckered up and then she was squelching toward me like a child doomed to take a horrid physic...or a giant cat about to rip my throat out. I numbly raised my quill. She stopped. "As winner," I managed, "I chose the time and place,"

Her face cleared. "You cheated."

"If you had waited, I would have shown you that shortcut."

"It was a trick!" She bristled. "And as for your wager, I might as well get it over now."

Life, she really never had flirted, had she? "Wet as you are," I said reasonably, "and you have to be cold; it'd feel like kissing a fish. We will address this another time. Sit down and have some cider. It's hot, just brought in. May I ask your opinion of that?" I casually flipped the Marquise's letter to her. She didn't touch it, knowing she was too wet. "Next time you'll have to remember to bring extra gear."

"How come you're not all soggy?" she asked.

I flicked my quill toward the cloak. "Water-resistant spells. Expensive, but eminently worthwhile."

"That's what we need in Remalna." She knelt in a breeze of rain-scented air. I watched her small hands manipulate the pitcher of cider, pouring the amber liquid. "A wizard," she said, as steam rose into her face.

"I don't know," I said carefully. "A magician is not like a tree that bears fruit for all who want it and demands nothing in return. A wizard is human and will have his or her own goals."

She was already nodding. "And a way of getting them that we couldn't very well stand against. All right. No wizard. But I shall have to get me one of those cloaks."

She drank, one finger hooked through the porcelain cup's handle. I looked down at my note, swallowing. She had just agreed with me, amiably, thoughtfully. We had conversed like normal people. Happiness spread like cool balm over my festering worry and frustration.

And then she picked up the letter.

I had to remind myself to breathe as I watched her. There was a little surprised widening of her eyes. Then a wary tightening of her mouth. Eyes narrowing now as they flicked from left to right. Finally, lids low as she stared down at the Marquise's signature. I waited.

She finally looked at me.

_Softly, Vidanric, softly_. "What do you think?"

"What am I supposed to think?" she stared into my eyes. "The Marquise is going back to Merindar, and blather blather blather about her nice year at Athanarel."

"Wants to go back. Do you see a message there?"

Her eyes slid away. "It's not addressed to me."

"Ostensibly it's addressed to my parents," I agreed. "Look closely." It was all I could do not to slam my fist into the table and tell her exactly what was going on. But she wouldn't believe me.

She obeyed, blinking rapidly at the letter, her brow furrowing. She could have thrown the letter down and stormed out but she didn't. And I loved her all the more for it.

Her face cleared suddenly. "The signature is different from the rest of the writing, which mean she must have used a scribe...Ah." Meliara looked at me. "She _didn't_ write this herself. Is that some kind of oblique insult?"

_Ignorant little back country countess indeed,_ I thought_._ "Well, one may assume she intended this to be read by other eyes."

"And since the signature is so different, she wanted it obvious. Yes, I see that." She scrutinized the letter anew, taking a deep breath. "But unless there's some kind of threat in that last bit about taking up the threads of her life, I don't see any real problem here."

_There is no problem - except for what this letter represents as a whole, and what it's supposed to make me think about _you,_ little bird. _I began to torture my quill, running my fingers over the satiny fibers. "One of the reasons my parents are both in Remalna-city is to establish someone of superior rank there until the question of rulership is settled."

"You think Arthal Merindar wants to be queen, then?" she asked.

How I adored her bluntness. But this was an ugly subject to confront. I tensely watched realization sink into her widening eyes.

"What is she like?" she asked. Her sudden question took me off-guard because I had expected her to deny any connections with the Marquise. Instead, this. I felt my guard rising fast.

"Like her brother, except much better controlled," I said honestly. "She's the only one of the family who is still a danger, but she very definitely is a danger."

"She might be saying the same of you," she said stoutly. "Not that I think all that much of the Merindars I've met so far, but they do have a claim on the throne. And their marquisate, like Renselaeus, takes its name from the family even if it isn't nearly as old."

I felt cold and empty. She, in her determination to be fair, was advocating a monster. Or perhaps Meliara Astair really was on Arthal Merindar's side...no, I could not think that thought. "You think, then, that I ought to cede to her the crown?"

"Will she be a good ruler?" she shot back, and then distress and frustration overcame her. "_I _don't know. Why are you asking me?" she threw her hands up. "Why does my answer make any difference at all, unless showing me this letter and asking me these questions is your own way of making a threat?" And then she stood and began to pace, fists tight, leaving a muddy track on the worn rug.

"No." I watched her, resigned. "I merely thought you'd find it interesting." I forced myself to dip my bedraggled quill and continue writing, hating each word. Why should we guard the Marquise's house when the love of my life wanted to let the awful woman try on the throne for size, and possibly throw me out? The entire situation was impossible.

_Baby steps, Vidanric_, I heard my mother's voice. _Baby steps._

Meliara was sitting down. I stonily kept writing. Let her do whatever she pleased; I couldn't care. But after some moments I heard steady breathing, and finally lifted my head.

She was curled like a kitten on her cushion, head pillowed on one gritty arm, a strand of muddy hair falling over her cheek. Sleeping.

_Sleeping_.

I stared, relishing this unexpected opportunity to study her. How long her lashes. How sculpted her ear. What a bundle of might she was, so much strength wrapped in a delicate latticework of bone and pale skin!

Her face was tense, even in sleep. No matter what she was doing, she was clearly trying her hardest to do it right.

I had to get her on my side. She was the fulcrum on which Remalna's destiny teetered. The greatest powers at court had already begun the fight for her loyalty. _I _was the only idiot who had staked my personal future on her. If the Marquise lost the battle for Countess Meliara Astair, her heart would not break (partly because it is stone). Mine would. I had so much to lose.

I had so much to gain!

I dipped my pen again, crisply. _Let the real games begin. And when Meliara Astair gives me her kiss, I'll look back on this moment and smile. _

_We both will. _

**TBC**

**Please tell me if I've compromised any character in any way and thank you for reading! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **First of all, I'd like to say I'm sorry for not updating for so long. Cookies for everyone! Thank you to those who reviewed - every one of you are to be credited for the existence of this chapter.

**More A/N: **This is a different kind of chapter - it has a situation out of my own head. I got this idea that wouldn't go away…and I couldn't figure out how to handle it. The idea takes place after Crown Duel, but it didn't quite fit there. Therefore it's become a dream, mid-Crown Duel. I tried putting it in italics but it looked dorky. So, the second section of this chapter is the dream - I put the first phrase in italics to mark it.

What you think about it is what matters. Tell me, if you get an inkling! Thanks!

Disclaimer: I don't own Crown Duel!

* * *

**What is Real?**

_**Part 1 of 2 **_

_"Our eyes met and our secret betrothal hung heavy between us. She looked so warm, my chest ached."  
_

It was Russav's fault. It is always Russav's fault, but this time, it was _particularly_ Russav's fault because he said a terrible, terrible thing.

"Tamara and your little countess met for the first time in the garden today. If I read Tamara's reaction right, Meliara's going to be quite a hit."

"She's not my countess, Russav."

He laughed. "Of course she is. She's brought you to your knees. I think she's going to bring Tamara to her knees, too, except love won't be a part of the equation." He sounded gleeful.

I was in no mood for his love-feud with Tamara or his teasing. "Thank you for working to help Meliara. And good night." I glanced uncomfortably at the expressionless page who opened the carved redwood doors into my rooms.

"Wait a moment," Russav said in a different voice. He came into my marble foyer, motioning the page to close the doors behind him. "Don't you want to know what it's like to dance with her?" he asked softly. "You didn't even offer."

"It's her first night here," I met his dark eyes steadily, "and she didn't need me throwing her more off-balance."

He straightened knowingly and I wished I hadn't sounded so resentful. I turned away, striding into my bedroom. The candles were lit and the gold velvet curtains had been drawn. Feeling stifled, I pulled a curtain aside and pushed the tall window open. The lighted gardens spread before me like a fantasy land.

As cold air flowed over me, I saw Russav standing in the bedroom doorway, his arms crossed. "You worry she's in love with me now," he said.

"She was acting very…enthralled with you. But," I turned, speaking before he could, "if she does end up falling in love with you, I deserve that. Because I unleashed you on her myself."

"You certainly did."

Russav has the worst habit of acting flippant at awful moments. No wonder Tamara almost kicked him a few months earlier.

"Maybe she is falling in love with me." He was still prattling. "Maybe she'll kill herself over me-"

"Russav!" I snapped.

"More likely Tamara would kill her before she could do anything," he added sensibly. "But there's no danger of that, because your countess isn't _going_ to fall in love with me. Do you want to know how I know?"

I bowed mockingly deep to him.

"She kept checking to see if you were watching. Almost every time a new partner swept her away, she looked to you to see if you'd do anything. Except you didn't. You just shuffled around with that lady, what's her name-"

"Lady Ries," I interrupted sharply, "wife of the envoy from-"

"Right. You had to dance with her, it was your duty, yabber yabber yabber. Listen. Don't underestimate Meliara. She'll come through for you. She'll realize that I'm just a pretty face…a very pretty face," he added, stroking his handsome jaw smugly.

I didn't like how he called her by her first name.

"And stop underestimating your skills as a strategist," he added, suddenly severe. "You have this all thought out, and you will have the ending you wish for, especially if I have any say in the matter. Good night."

He turned and I heard his clicking heels on the foyer. I just stood there.

"Oh. And if Meliara does fall in love with me," Russav called, "I'll kidnap Tamara in a fit of passion. That'll turn Meliara's eyes to you."

"No. Her heart would be broken." I didn't want her hurt. I didn't want her to fall in love with Russav either. What a miserable tangle.

"You're right," Russav called. "I'm leaving before I say something else addled." The doors thudded behind him and I closed my eyes.

If I were some sort of fool, I would have given in to the urge to go on a walk in the gardens near Meliara's window. I am not a fool. There comes a time in one's life where it's either stop being a fool or die.

I let my valet unbraid my hair, dropping the diamonds into a little box. Dressed comfortably for sleep, alone at last, I stared at my reflection in a long mirror. My eyes looked tired and my mouth grim. For a moment, I assessed my body. I had always been slender and muscles never ballooned on my arms, legs, and chest like they did for Russav. But every muscle I had was strong. I wondered, if Meliara ever saw me, would she like what she saw?

I sighed and climbed onto the top of my silk bed, not bothering to blow out the candles or shut the window.

* * *

_"Here's the rest, m'lord."_ A manservant slung two more bags across the back of my horse, who stamped and shifted unhappily. I wanted to do the same. In those bags were complaints, petitions, meaningless letters. Piles and piles to be organized and addressed.

And it was a gray day, with a bitter wind that felt as if it could leech one's very life away. I was away from home, staying in a manor house that couldn't keep the cold out; sleeping in a bed that was lumpy in all the wrong places. I was surrounded by subjects whose first thought upon seeing me was to complain. Winter was coming, after all. Nothing undermines a person's hardiness like an approaching hard time.

My two secretaries were already mounted up and edging down the road. Shivering beneath all my layers, I climbed onto my horse and wrapped my stiff fingers around the reins. The manservant bowed and scuttled toward the warmth of the inn. I set off with my helpers, wishing I was heading for home and Mel, my fiancée.

Stealing moments with her was even more delicious because we were keeping our betrothal secret for one more week, allowing the country to settle a bit before we riled them all with a wedding. But the thought of being her betrothed didn't give me the usual warm thrill. I was too tired.

Three more days. And then I could go home.

Thankfully, it was not a long ride to the manor house, which sat at the end of a long lane flanked by rigid trees. Warm light shone from its windows and my horse hurried when it smelled the stables.

It was hard to make myself leave the warm stables. I do believe a pile of hay would've been more comfortable than the stone-stuffed mattress of my bed. But leave I did. I trudged across the courtyard and the wind took the opportunity to hit me full in the face, shoving as if to keep me from gaining the doors.

I couldn't even get angry. A rigid guard opened one door for me and I walked into the manor's cavernous front entry. Warm candles lit the round room, but the air was cool. The butler came and removed my cloak; I wished he wouldn't. Rubbing my hands and blowing on my fingers, I could feel a cold coming on.

Hense, my valet, met me in a wood-floored corridor. "Majesty, supper will be ready soon. Do you wish to clean up a bit?"

I nodded.

After a warm bath I felt better. I entered the sitting room. Two Firesticks roared in the fireplace and heavy brown curtains had been drawn over the windows, but it still was cold. My hosts, Lord and Lady Dunning, were sitting on a bench by the fireplace. He was skinny and had his nose buried in a book. She was small and comfortably round, with graying hair.

Their seventeen-year-old daughter, Rosena, sat across from them on a second bench. She was tall and dark-haired like her father, with piercing eyes that were too fond of following me. She gave me a brittle smile. I wondered what had upset her, until I saw the woman sitting beside her, staring at the flames.

An emerald green dress accentuated her delicate curves. Her curled hair caught my eye immediately. It was so red, so rich, so long, it was just like…

She turned toward me. I felt like I'd walked straight into a lightning bolt.

"Your Highness!" Lady Dunning exclaimed. "We have another guest, one you're familiar with! Lady Meliara arrived just today."

Meliara rose to her perfect height and curtseyed. "Your Highness."

I bowed mechanically, body buzzing. "My lady."

Our eyes met and our secret betrothal hung heavy between us. She looked so warm my chest ached. "What providence," I managed. "What brings you here, Lady Meliara?"

"I came to check on an old friend," she said, biting off the words with just as much difficulty.

My eyes fastened on the bottle of bluewine on the sideboard. I moved to pour myself a glass. "Your friend fares well, I hope?"

The future queen of Remalna remained where she was, hands clutched together in her skirts. "I've yet to see."

A shot of heat hurtled through me as our eyes met. I was the 'friend'. I could see it on her beloved, transparent face.

"I hope your friend is all right," Rosena stole Meliara's attention. She didn't look happy.

_He isn't all right. He isn't at all_. I watched myself pour the wine, seeing this evening stretch into an eternity. We'd have to keep up the charade through dinner, and coffee…I took a big gulp, wondering why the wine didn't warm me like it usually did. I wished I'd stayed in the stable.

I edged toward the merry group, wondering where I could plant myself. Rosena was making room for me on the bench, which I tried to ignore. Sitting beside Meliara was extremely tempting but then I'd be able to smell her perfume. That would be more dangerous than waltzing across enemy lines.

I have considered writing Lord Dunnings a thank you note for what he said at that very moment: "My stomach is telling me we've lingered long enough. Shall we go in to supper?"

We did. Lord and Lady Dunnings went arm and arm. Mel and I came next, barely touching, smiles carved into our flushed cheeks. (I wonder if I had leaned against the wood paneling, it would have ignited.) Rosena followed, her footsteps just a bit too loud.

Lord and Lady Dunnings sat at either end of the table. Meliara and Rosena sat on one side. I got to sit across from them like a criminal before a jury. They both were staring at me. I settled into my seat, breathing deeply to dispel the incredible heat that had built up inside me. To have Mel inches away, soft hair, warm skin, bright blue eyes, and not be able to hold her tightly, kiss her hello, was torture.

At least I was warm now. What if I started sweating? I clamped down on my babbling mind. I _w__ould be fine_, burn it.

Five servants gave us soup, some creamy tomato concoction native to this part of Remalna. It reminded me of Mel's hair. It didn't smell as nice, though.

Lady Dunnings was in very high spirits. "Two heroes under our roof! And in such terrible traveling weather. It strikes me as more than mere coincidence." She slid a meaningful look between Meliara and me.

Rosena glared.

Meliara was suddenly extremely occupied with making sure she didn't drip soup in her lap. So I laughed lightly. "Mel-Lady Meliara and I are good friends. Indeed, after all the mess in the capital, it would be difficult to not be friends. Lady Dunnings, forgive me, but what kind of stone is that in your necklace? We have to repair the throne room and I am considering incorporating jewels into the ceiling."

She simpered and was off on a long explanation. I nodded and enthused and sipped my soup. When the servants took away our bowls, I felt exhausted.

"Oh you'll love what I have planned for the next course," Lady Dunnings said with a wink. "It is the sort of thing that must be savored blissful bite by bite."

For a moment I stared at her enraptured face, frozen with dismay. Then I glanced at Meliara and saw she felt the same. "So we shall," I said to Lady Dunnings, who didin't hear because a servant was setting a well-filled plate before her.

A plate came down in front of me and the smell of wonderfully cooked veal made me feel sick to my stomach. I listlessly cut off a bite and looked up just in time to see Meliara place a bite in her own mouth. For a moment, her mouth had my full attention and the ache in my chest came back.

"Your Highness." Rosena sounded falsely surprised. "You do not look well. Is the meat not to your liking?"

"It is delicious," I assured her. "But I believe the day has put me off my appetite."

Lady Dunnings clucked like a hen. "Perhaps more wine?"

"Yes please."

A servant refreshed my glass and I took a gulp so huge, I almost choked. I set my glass down. No more wine.

"With work like yours, I should think you'd have a massive appetite," Lord Dunnings said suddenly, studying me with his brown eyes. "Raking in complaints is a hungry business."

"My friend loses his appetite when he's coming down with a cold," Meliara said solemnly. "Perhaps our king is about to catch his death."

"Lady Meliara!" Rosena exclaimed. "How can you say such things?"

Lord Dunnings chuckled.

"And what does your friend do to hold off the sickness?" I asked Mel. "What should he do - retire early?"

"Retiring early should be his favored strategy," she said, only briefly meeting my eyes. "But he is often too busy. So his friends must make him."

"What any good friends would do," Lady Dunnings said solicitously, and sipped her wine. Rosena rolled her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking.

"I know someone who is very much like your friend, Lady," I said.

Meliara quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Count Branaric." Who I had just talked to five days ago about the dratted winter rain.

She grinned. "You're right! My brother never does what he's told," she told her hosts enthusiastically.

"It's been so long since I saw him last. What occupies his time nowadays?" I asked blandly.

Her lips tightened. "Lady Niamar, and plans for moving back to Tlanth. He's talked about you a time or two."

It was my turn to lift an eyebrow.

Meliara's color rose. "He wishes you would stop running around everywhere."

I lifted one hand. "A king's duties are incessant."

"Yes, but a king with an unbalanced life becomes useless to those he serves."

"And how's that, Lady Meliara?" Lord Dunnings asked.

"If the king never stops to rest, his wisdom will leave him, along with his patience and ability to handle the burdens of state."

I saluted her with my glass as our hosts (excluding Rosena) made appreciative noises.

"Perhaps you should write a book, Lady Meliara," Rosena said, "on how monarchs should spend their time." She gave me a sympathetic look.

Mel gave her a massive smile. "Perhaps I will. Though I doubt a monarch would take the advice of an insignificant countess."

I hid a very un-kinglike smirk behind my wine glass.

Lady Dunnings breathed out quickly. "And next we have a berry salad with cream."

* * *

**Boring? Okay? You want me to stop fooling around and get back to the book? Please tell me! Thanks! :)  
**

**TBC within a week...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Many many many thanks to Mrs. Dom Masbolle, FelSong, missfroggie779, Solitary12, courtingu, Nerds United, Adalon Ithilriel, Nyeren,Rayless Night, NightLove, siromygod, rurounivampire81, and BACswimma for your time and reviews! You rock my world!

* * *

**What is Real?**

**_Part 2 of 2_**

_"I had to hunt Mel down myself…o dreaded task!"  
_

As soon as we finished the berries and cream, we cheerily moved onto the next torture chamber: the sitting room again, this time with coffee and chocolate instead of wine. Lady and Lord Dunnings resumed their former places. Meliara and Rosena took the padded bench again. I ended up in an upholstered chair with no allies.

I stared at Meliara's hands folded in her lap. They were so beautiful, so small. So strong. My own hands felt cold and empty.

We all sipped and sighed for a while. It was one of the worst sip-and-sighs I'd ever experienced, partly because I couldn't taste my coffee. My mind teemed crazily with strategies that would get Mel and me alone. I felt like a desert wanderer forced to meditate over a glass of water before drinking it.

Lady Dunnings said suddenly, "Do tell us a story, your Highness and Countess Meliara!" Glancing at her husband who was buried in his book she added, "It's the only talk Raoul will listen to."

"Unfair," Lord Dunnings said delicately, lowering his book. "I listen to everything."

"Of _course_ you do. Tell us how you met," Lady Dunnings implored. Her cheeks were red and her eyes over-bright. She was a woman who loved wine a bit too ardently.

"Well," was Mel's contribution. Mine was a laugh. We looked at each other and quickly looked away.

"It's not a pretty story." Mel gestured helplessly. I loved the way she talked with her hands when flustered.

"We were enemies at the time, Lady Dunnings," I added quietly. "Therefore our exchanges were hardly affable."

"Yes, but surely it couldn't have been so terrible that you cannot speak of it," Rosena made her own special contribution to this exquisite torture.

"Indeed, no," I agreed. "But I am afraid it is not the sort of tale your honorable mother desires. Let us speak instead of Lady Meliara's plans. How long will you linger here, Lady Meliara?"

Lord Dunnings' retreated to his book with a resigned sigh. Rosena looked disgruntled.

"I'm…not certain yet," Mel said, brushing a curl over her shoulder. "I'll let my friend determine that for me. I think…I may be forced to take charge of the situation."

"Surely you don't intend to abduct your friend and take him back with you?" Lady Dunnings snorted, then giggled.

With that snort, I felt the already unpolished atmosphere of the room descend a bit closer to that of a barnyard. It is amazing, the talent some people have for precipitating such a transition. I am being deplorably uncharitable, however, and I know I _shall_ feel repentant.

Some day.

Mel shrugged, color blooming along her cheekbones. I wanted to kiss them. "I hope that isn't the case."

"Who is this friend?" Rosena demanded suddenly. Ignoring a quelling look from her mother, she went on, "It seems monstrous unfair to speak of him without revealing his identity."

"He's…" Mel stared at her hands. I fought the urge to smile, so complete was my faith in her ability to rally.

"I wonder at people's fascination with names," she said smoothly, "when they are so superfluous. Don't you agree?" she looked to me.

"I'm afraid I do. While names are important, their role is no more than, perhaps, a sign in front of a village. The _name_ of a village does not make the village."

"Though sometimes the village makes its name," Mel said thoughtfully.

"Sometimes the village makes the name, and sometimes the name makes the village, and sometimes the name and the village make nothing at all." I gestured airily with one hand.

"But what of the instances where the village makes the name _and_ the name makes the village?" Mel demanded philosophically. "What shall we think of that?"

"I say that if a village can make its name and the name can make the village at the same time, it must be one of the most excellently-named villages and should have many village-visitors."

"Uh," uttered Rosena.

"Indeed!" Mel nodded, an infectious twinkle coming into her eyes.

"Then we are agreed," I added.

Mel nodded. "We won't argue - there's no need."

"Excellent; I'll follow your lead."

"Oh, gracious Highness," Mel exclaimed, "I applaud this good deed."

"You're just rhyming!" Lady Dunnings suddenly exclaimed. "Aren't you?"

We tore our eyes from each other to look at her. We even had Lord Dunnings' attention. Mel flushed. I tried to get my mind moving again.

"Life, you are familiar with each other," Lord Dunnings said. "That rhyming was the closest thing to literary beauty I've ever heard spoken in this household."

"Oh, of _course_ it is," Lady Dunnings snapped.

Mel and I exchanged bright glances. Inwardly, I applauded her. Rhyming was a game we had started on a long carriage ride after we decided to marry. It hadn't come easily to Mel and this had been her best performance yet. Now if only the Dunnings would disappear so I could show her just how wonderfully she'd done…

Rosena stood abruptly. "I am afraid I must retire. Something is not sitting well with me."

"Stop by the kitchens, dear," Lady Dunnings said sympathetically. "Cook will give you warm milk."

"I hope you feel better," Mel said sincerely. "Perhaps some sleep is all you need."

I added, "Indeed. Please accept my own heartfelt wishes for your swift recovery."

She bobbed a curtsy. "Accepted with gratitude, _Vidanric_. Good night." With one lingering look at me from under her lashes, she swept off into the shadows and out the door.

The silence that followed was very awkward. Lady Dunnings cleared her throat. Lord Dunnings hid in his book again. I had never seen two parents more embarrassed.

"More coffee?" Mel offered Lady Dunnings, who gratefully shook her head. Just like that, the awkwardness abated. I added another kiss to the tally I'd been adding up for when I got Mel alone.

"Since he has stayed with us, his Highness knows we do not linger here long into the night," Lady Dunnings said to Mel with a smile.

"That is good," Mel said. "My journey was long and I should retire myself." She rose and curtseyed to her hosts. "Thank you for a wonderful evening."

Then she curtseyed to me and I had to grip the armrests of my chair to keep from seizing her. "Highness." With a soft smile, she slipped past my chair and I smelled her perfume. My middle turned to water. The door closed behind her and then all I wanted to do was extricate myself from my seat and find her. Which room was she staying in?

"I hope you will forgive Rosena," Lady Dunnings said. "She is young and eager and though I myself would not object to anything…special that might develop between my daughter and yourself, I do not condone such forward behavior."

I knew where Rosena had gotten her forwardness. "No offense was taken, I assure you. Rosena's boldness will no doubt aid her in the future."

Lord Dunnings' book closed. "You're right, Highness. This is not a world for the timid."

"Said by the man who would rather hide his nose in a book than converse or tend to business," Lady Dunnings said playfully.

I heard the heartfelt complaint under her glib tone and suppressed the urge to sigh. "If you'll excuse me," I rose, "I have another full day tomorrow. Thank you for another delectable meal."

They rose as well, Lord Dunnings somewhat stiffly. "Of course," Lady Dunnings curtseyed deeply. "I wish you a good night's rest."

I nodded to them and made my way out. I was slow. Dignified. Suave. I slipped by the door covering and let it fall elegantly behind me.

In the cool corridor I tensed. I stood still, breathing fast, looking first one way and then the other.

Finally I sped left. This would take me to the bedrooms at the back of the house. Mel would be in one of the rooms. Of course, I could ask a servant, but rumors would devour the house by morning and everyone would be giving us sly or suspicious looks at breakfast. No, I had to hunt Mel down myself…o dreaded task! I almost chuckled with glee.

The first time I met Meliara Astair, she represented a multitude of disasters, not improvements. Thank the stars she had forced her way into my beloved house of cards and blown it over, because now she represented everything that could make my life better. What I am trying to say is, I hadn't had to urge to chuckle with glee since I was eleven and Russav and I had a bucket of mud poised above a very unsuspecting diplomat. Nothing since then had ever evoked such pure, wicked happiness in me. Mel was changing me for the better.

The manor had two floors. The bedrooms were on the second. I took the stairs two at a time. Just as I reached the top, a blond serving girl carrying an empty milk glass rounded the corner and we nearly collided.

"You Highness!" she exclaimed, then lowered her voice. "I am so sorry! I-I didn't see you…" She curtseyed shakily deep.

"Ohno, thefaultisallmine," I said breathlessly. "Please." I gallantly gestured toward the stairs. The maid flushed, dimpled, and started down the steps. I strode off, berating myself and telling myself to slow down even as my feet moved faster and faster.

Two stone corridors were connected at the stairs by a sitting room, like a horseshoe. I chose the left corridor, listening as I passed each doorway, searching for light under tapestries. I peeked into my own lit room. Nothing. My heart was pounding and pressure was building inside me. If I didn't find her, I would soon explode and that nice blond maid would have to clean me off the walls…

I grimaced at my morbid thoughts, though I knew they would make Mel laugh.

At that very instant, I heard Mel's easy laughter from the sitting room behind me. I rushed back and stopped between two upholstered chairs, flummoxed. The room was empty. Then I heard footsteps in the corridor on the right and boldly hastened forward.

Light glowed in the third doorway on the right. Practically shaking, I crept up, shoulders tightening when I heard Mel's clear voice. _She was in that room_, every strand of fiery hair, every centimeter of warm skin, every smile. I gulped. There's only so much a man can take, as Russav would say. Batting the tapestry aside I-

Froze mid-charge. Mel sat with her back to me, facing the mirror of a vanity. A maid stood behind her, brushing her glorious fall of hair. Mel's eyes met mine in the mirror and went comically wide. One hand convulsively grabbed her silky dressing gown. _Go!_

I beat a very hasty retreat, putting my back to the wall just right of the doorway. As the coolness of the stone seeped into my shoulders, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Burn it."

"At Court the common method for twoing is much like it is anywhere, Raine," Mel's voice came clearly to my ears. "Some people enjoy flaunting their relationships but I believe in keeping the things precious to me out of the reach of others. Do you agree? In that case, though your beloved may wish to _burst in_ without caution, it is best to say you will _meet him_ _in a safe place, _at a_ proper time_. This will keep your relationship as something you…" she continued, but I had heard what I was supposed to.

Miserably resigned, I pursed my lips. "As you wish, Lady." I dragged myself back through the sitting room, down the other hall, and into my room. The lights had been dimmed and the bedclothes were turned back. Hense was sitting in a chair, reading a book. He quickly rose when I entered.

"Hense, I won't be needing your help tonight. I would rather you get a good night's rest. Please wake me when the sun rises."

"Very good, Highness." He bowed deeply and made his way to the room that adjoined mine.

He had to know that Mel was here. Silently thanking him for being his observant, considerate self, I took his chair and sat tapping my toes like a nervous boy. Everything was so monstrously unfair. I smiled at my own childishness, and then forgot it was childishness and huffed softly.

The wait took forever and no time at all. Every second was an eternity but when a foot rasped outside my tapestry, I felt that I had waited no more than two minutes. I was out of the chair like my seat was on fire, wrenching the tapestry aside so roughly it ripped at the top.

Mel stood there, radiant, blue eyes sparkling. "Danr-"

How could she want to start with _talking_? I swooped her close and kissed those blasted words right out of her mouth. She wrapped her arms around me and I could feel her heart pounding - I swear she was grateful to surrender whatever speech she had ready. When we parted to breathe we discovered that the tapestry was trapped between us. Quickly, we freed it and moved further into the room.

"So much for being discrete," Mel's voice was bubbly with laughter.

That joyful sound cracked the dam holding back the torture of the evening and the misery of the past few days, and then we were both laughing out the tension and the giddiness, drinking each other in. She came close, tucking her head under my chin and I could smell-

A cold wind bit into my back and forced my eyes open.

I was in my room at Athanarel. It was blue-black and so cold. Disoriented, I lifted my head and realized I was laying atop my blankets, alone. I looked over my shoulder and saw that my window was wide open, the gold curtains flapping. The wind whistled hollowly.

I groaned through an aching throat as I remembered where I was. I had to close the window. _Close it. Close it, Danric_.

I have been taught to rise above my feelings. I have taught my body to survive without much sleep. I am the king of self-control and denial. I had to close that window, so I _would_ close that window…I would…

A minute later I just pulled the blankets over my head to keep the cold breeze away. Truth was, I couldn't close the window. I couldn't get up; I couldn't do anything. Not without Mel.

When I closed my eyes I remembered the dream and oh, it hurt. I could hear Russav's voice...

_Treatise on Male-to-Female Interactions for Inept Men, an In-Depth Study by One Rascal Who Knows It All_

_Chapter 2: When She Waltzes Into Your Dreams_

_You may dance. You may flirt. You may kiss. Then you will wake. Personally, I have found that kissing the woman of my dreams feels exactly like kissing whatever real woman I kissed a week or weeks before –stop giving me that severe look, Danric. Sorry to shatter whatever blissful remnants you may be trying to hold on to, but it must be done. _

_When you wake from a dream and realize that no, she is not yours, there isn't much to be done. You can try to distract yourself immediately, but this habit will steal sleep from you. My best advice is go back to sleep and see if she's waiting there for you. Save feeling like dirt for the cheery morning's light. Then go to the dueling courts and make cheese out of somebody._

_I guarantee you'll feel much better. _

_For a few moments, anyway._

**Thank you so much for being so sweet and receptive about this crazy little tangent! You all are wonderful! Any thoughts are welcomed. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Yay, a longer chapter! This completely belongs to the reviewers AND the people who put this story on Alert - I'd look at all your names and be like, AHH! I MUST WRITE SOMETHING NOW! Very effective. Many thanks to yourheartsdesire, Ariellabellas, Rayless Night, Nerds United, BACswimma, NightLove, Mrs. Dom Masbolle, Manwathiel, Adalon Ithilriel, FelSong, rurounvampire81, Marquise of Pembroke, siromygod, Solitary12, and helplessromantic801 for your thoughts!

Disclaimer: Crown Duel belongs to Sherwood Smith

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**Oh.**

_Meliara truly was a riddle. I loved riddles._

_Oh_.

There's not much to that little word, is there? It's just a circle and a misshapen line. But, oh, there are many varieties of _Oh_. If you would generously permit me to give you an example or two…

1. _Oh_ as in, "Well that isn't the way _I_ saw it and now I'm shocked."

2. _Oh_ as in, "Thank you for giving me this delicious piece of gossip-meat that I will savor as the brutal social carnivore I am."

3. _Oh_ as in, "It's the most adorable kitten and I wish to cuddle it even though it has claws like needles that will leave scars."

4. _Oh_ as in, "Hmph, now I resent you and everything you say."

5. _Oh_ as in, "I am longing for your…(let us say eyes)."

6. _Oh_ as in, "I've never really seen anything like you before and for some reason, the sight and concept of you is sinking past my skin, into my bones, and I can feel it. And all I can do is stand here and stare at you and listen to my mind whisper its hushed _Oh_, along with the rest of my body."

You may have guessed, my astute friend, that I wish to speak of Number Six. And indeed you are correct - why would I waste so much ink on it if I did not? You may also have guessed who inspired Number Six, and you may be tiring of my talking about her...and yet, I shall.

The first time I felt the sixth _Oh_ was when Countess Meliara Astair glared down Galdran (may he rest in roaches) in his own throne room.

I'd dealt with her bravado the entire way from Tlanth to Athanarel. When we arrived at the palace and I left to change my clothes, I felt flatly regretful because I believed I was about to witness the crushing of an admirable spirit. Believe me, when the throne room doors closed behind you, you didn't want to be on Galdran's bad side. If he had had multiple bad sides, Meliara had been on all of them.

I had escorted her to her doom like a cheap prize. She couldn't stand on her own. She was skin and bones. Filthy, she stood under the inspection of the best groomed in the land. Then, her soon-to-be murderer came right up to her and mocked her mercilessly.

She just furrowed that delicate brow and scowled at him, her blue eyes eerily ferocious in her dirt-blackened face.

I stared. I didn't breathe. And I thought…

_Oh_.

This bewildered awe follows me around now. It's kind of like having a waterfall following me on tiptoe. Whenever I think of Meliara, it gives me a hug, dousing me to the bone. This gets on my nerves, but it's intoxicatingly delicious. Which also gets on my nerves.

Yes, my nerves were exceedingly gotten-upon when I turned and saw Meliara, Branaric, and Nee coming toward me.

It was the night of Russav's ball. I had been waiting at the top of the grand staircase, alone with my thoughts. The grand ballroom, fanatically decorated in lavender by my artful cousin, stretched out below me. Full of finely dressed guests, it looked like a giant chest of jewels. Conversation filled the high room like water. A few times I spotted Russav in a crowd of laughing friends. He looked so carefree.

I had sapphires braided into my hair and one sparkled in my peripheral vision, distracting.

Now, dressed in white and silver with lavender ribbons tracing her form to perfection, Meliara was shocking to me. Her hair was caught up in roses and ribbons. A careful bit of it fell over one small shoulder, and I wondered what it would smell like. She had such a graceful way of walking. Extremely aware that it was I who would escort her down the staircase, I watched her merry expression darken when she saw me. I forced myself not to sigh.

"Lady Meliara, Lady Nimiar," I said quietly, bowing.

Nee gave me a big smile. Meliara looked distracted.

"Branaric, I hope I find you well?" I turned to Meliara's brother, who was looking dashing in forest green.

"Quite, and yourself?" he asked carelessly.

"Very well, thank you." _Especially because your sister is going to have to hold my arm, and then dance with me if I work up the nerve to ask her…which I will, I assure you. Soon. _

We were distracted by Nee's voice. She sounded a little strangled as she spoke to Meliara, "…supposed to be looked at! We'll open the ball. You remember? I know I told you."

The naked dread on Meliara's face did not surprise me. Our grand entrance down the massive staircase would terrify her. I wished I could help her. Secretly I marveled that the woman who had faced down a monstrous king could be so cowed by a bunch of painted dolls. Meliara truly was a riddle. I loved riddles.

Bran, ever the sensitively supportive brother, flicked her on the shoulder. "Brace up, Mel. You'll like it. I promise."

She pressed her lips together, jaw tight, and stared at the floor.

I glanced down into the ballroom and caught Russav's curious eyes. When I turned back, my gaze met Nee's. She, too, had noted Russav.

"Savona's waiting," she whispered to Mel.

_The sooner we start the sooner we're done_, I mentally told Meliara, and gave a tiny nod toward Russav, who I knew was waiting for my signal.

Like a sweetly scented breeze billowing up toward us, the promenade rose from below, swelling, deliberate, and decadent. The rich music and awe of Meliara weakened my knees as I offered the lovely, paralyzed Countess my arm.

She couldn't understand how much more I was offering than my arm. Every bit of me. Every moment, waking and asleep, of my entire life. Ah, that phrase has the proper melancholy turn to it, doesn't it? Didn't think I'd ever catch words like that in my own heart…

She took my arm, her touch feather-light. She straightened, baring her teeth in a semblance of a smile. One tap on her cheek and it would shatter.

I kept my stride short as we moved to the stairs. How to soften porcelain?

"Think of this as a battle," I said quietly.

"A battle?" She looked up at me, huge blue eyes scrabbling over my face for hidden meanings, her anxiety forgotten.

_Ah, little bird, I knew it would work._

We began to descend. "You've a sword in your hand," I murmured, keeping an eye on the stairs, "and vast numbers of ravening minions of some dreaded evil sorcerer await below. The moment you step into them, you'll leap into battle, mowing them down in droves…"

We were already down the stairs and walking toward Russav who stood alone, waiting. A grin bloomed on Meliara's face, crinkling up her eyes, showing her small teeth. She sparkled. Then her face closed, her smile fading. "I don't really like battles, you know."

"Of course I know. But you're used to them."

She looked forward, slowing. I turned and saw Russav, a perfectly smug grin on his face. I was glad I couldn't hear his thoughts. He bowed. Meliara and I parted.

The orchestra fell silent. Every eye turned to me, waiting for my choice of partner.

Numb, I offered Meliara my hand. She took it and came close as the dance began, her expression flat yet relaxed. Her nearness sent waves of awareness over my skin.

We danced. My body took me through the steps as it had a hundred times before, allowing my mind to focus entirely on Meliara. She lightly followed my lead, turn, release, come close, move to the right…her eyes were wide, taking everything in, and her mouth was happy though it didn't smile. Dressed in white, she was pure and otherworldly and sweetly warm.

The dance was over far too quickly, but I bowed and gave her to Russav, avoiding his eyes and his glee.

I turned and there was Branaric, releasing his first partner and reaching for Nee. His former partner, freed, slid directly in front of me with smoothness gained from years of experience.

"Lord Vidanric," a beautifully gowned Tamara said, pronouncing each syllable of my name with a magic delicacy that had the male half of Court pining after her. She was a vision, as always.

And here I insert another one of Russav's pearls of wisdom; I pray you do not mind, o longsuffering reader.

_Chapter 3: When a Man Discovers He Has Become a Target for an Ambitious Woman (or a Rabid Mountain Cat, Both Are Just as Bad). _

_There are times to be brave and fight. To be manly! To flex your muscles! To growl! Spit harder than the other man! And then, there is That Other Time. In this situation, flexing muscles, acting brave, and growling will only worsen your plight. This is when any man who values his well-being will make a strategic, spineless retreat._

_You see, men aren't endowed with the best senses but we can recognize Those Women – the ones who skip in with shackles ready for our wrists. These are the women who know how to take advantage of a man's manners and force him to accept their overtures. _

_Men, of course, never do this to women. Ever. _

_When a woman like this approaches, remain calm. Look her in the eye, but not too long because she'll take this as a good sign. Be polite, remember to breathe, and only do what you feel is right! If she asks you to do anything beyond this, you must refuse. She may cry. She may give you Heart Rending Looks. Stand firm! And if all else fails, well, try spitting. And then run. Make sure you confuse your tracks because women like this are disturbingly skilled at tracking men - this skill isn't natural and must never, ever be underestimated._

_If she continues to follow you despite your best efforts, find friends that can escort you to the mountains. Stay there in a cave, grow a beard, eat rabbits…Now I'm just rambling, Danric…it's late and I need some sleep…stop laughing! _

I feel that this certain pearl is less-than-perfect…but it's just me. Now I'm just rambling and I will put a stop to it like the stoic and kingly individual I am. There.

Meliara had already been spun away by my cousin. I felt the world flatten, the color drain away. Suddenly, I had no purpose but to be polite.

"Lady Tamara, may I?" I said with a small bow, offering my hand. She took it, deftly twining our fingers beyond the usual polite contact. I didn't miss this but to extricate myself was out of the question. We slid into the steps of the next dance without a hitch.

Tamara's eyes were focused on my face, but I didn't want to meet them. She twirled slowly out and then in, coming a little too close, but not enough to be obvious to anyone watching. Her perfume washed over me, cloying.

"You look especially striking this evening, my lord," she said, giving my title multiple alluring interpretations with a single intonation.

"Thank you. You look well also, my lady," I said without looking at her.

"'I 'look well', Vidanric?" she said, amused. Her scented hair brushed over my hand as she circled me. "What an uncharacteristic absence of poetry. I wonder what could precipitate this change in your speech?"

She came around to face me, a hard edge under her lovely smile. Possessive.

"I don't have the pleasure of understanding you," I said quietly.

"Ah, that's better," she sighed, twining her fingers again with my unwilling ones. "But since you won't tell me, I must blame this on your evident lack of sleep."

"I feel no weariness, my lady," I said flatly.

"There are circles under your eyes," she said, examining them from under her copious lashes. "Don't think you can try to deceive me, my lord," she added playfully. "We have known each other from a very tender age."

The dance brought her close, and she tilted her face up. "There aren't many secrets you can hide from me," she whispered.

I looked into her blue, blue eyes and thought of how unlike Meliara's they were. At the last instant I glanced down and saw that her red lips were parted temptingly. The familiarity of this vision washed over me dully. Ever since I had become the obvious candidate for king, she and Russav had supposedly been in a terrible row and she had become a huntress, I her prey. Her attempts to tempt me were a monotonous reality.

The music rose joyfully and we took off spinning, in perfect control. A minute later, the dance ended. She curtseyed, her dissatisfaction expressed with a single glance, and moved off. A few steps and she almost ran into Russav. He saw her, she saw him, and they coldly moved in opposite directions.

Suppressing a wry smile, I scanned the crowd for Meliara.

There she was, a flash of snow and fire. A new dance was starting and she was in the arms of Lord Deric of Orbanith. They were both smiling. More than a few other young men hovered nearby, watching them with quiet envy.

Pleased, I turned away and there was Nee, merry in her rich brown gown, her cheeks flushed. A real smile came to my face; I offered her my hand and we were off.

She chattered in her sensitive, gentle way, asking me questions and giving long answers. I was grateful, especially when we passed Meliara and her partner and my mind blanked. At the end of the dance, I gave her a deep bow. She curtseyed gracefully in return. Then Branaric swept her up from behind and she laughed. Giving me smiles, they slipped away.

Jealous, I moved to the edge of the dance floor as quickly as possible, taking a glass of punch when I was offered it. I drank, trying to look preoccupied. Many women besides Tamara were waging campaigns with me as the prize.

Alas, the punch could not save me. A young duchess with glinting green eyes and brown-blond hair toed the line of propriety by asking me for a dance and to refuse…well, I couldn't. I danced with her, listening as she rattled off some compliments and then practically listed what I would gain in property and riches in marriage to her. It was a speech I had heard many times. I knew that many young women carried the entire hopes of their families and people, so I was kind and interested, and when the dance was done I bowed and turned away.

And there was Tamara. She tore her eyes from the little duchess, hiding her enmity an instant too late. "Vidanric," she purred, offering her hand.

I took it. This time she did not twine our fingers. For most of the dance she seemed stiffer, her eyes darker, her face always turned slightly away.

She was playing the stiffed supplicant. I was familiar with this tactic as well.

"Forgive me for being so forward, Lady Tamara," I said, "but you seem subdued. Surely no one has insulted you? For it would require immediate action on Russav's and my part."

Her eyes flashed when I mentioned Russav, but she smiled, leaning forward intimately. "You were not forward, my lord, indeed, it would take very much for me to consider anything you might do as _forward_…"

She let it dangle. I met her eyes calmly and then we broke apart, stepping in precise circles with everyone else.

"Indeed, my lord," she said when she rejoined me in a rush of perfumed air, "I have not been insulted by any of those _around_ us." The tiny pause she gave made her meaning clear. "You may continue to enjoy the evening without thoughts of combat."

"I am happy to hear this," I said smoothly. The dance ended. "May the rest of your evening be a success." I bowed.

"That is all I wish for as well," she sighed, curtseying.

Poor, stubborn, hurting Tamara. She was very skilled at her art; I couldn't fault that. But her hair was too cold, too black. Her skin hadn't a single freckle. Her perfume smelled wrong. She never argued with me, never blushed. Her figure was too cultivated. And most importantly of all, she was just _too tall_. To kiss her, I'd just need to incline my head. Meliara, on the other hand, I'd have to sweep up as I came down…

These are important things to consider when contemplating a lifelong partnership, you see.

Five dances later, I was sweating, my feet were sore, and the night was getting on. Meliara, unlike myself, hadn't had a moment's rest. Every time I looked some lucky swain had her in his arms. Her glow never diminished. In a flash I saw her as she'd looked across my campfire in the Tlanthi mountains, filthy, racked with pain, and defiant. She was no sad prisoner now…she was…

Fingers I knew too well twined with mine and for the first time that evening, annoyance rose in my chest. I turned to Tamara and she used that movement to sweep me straight into the next dance with a glittering smile.

"Lady Tamara, surely you cannot lack for partners?" I said simply. I put my arm around her as the dance required.

Her smile turned a little crooked, smug, as she rested her hand on my chest and took my other one in her own, moving very close.

"Oh, my lord," she said softly in my ear, "of course not. But surely you understand – not every person who could be my partner will I allow to be. Not when there are others I prefer. It is a lady's choice, you know." Her chin brushed my neck as she pulled back. Her hand slid up my chest and onto my shoulder.

I didn't answer.

This dance was closer than the other two and she took full advantage of it in her discreet way, brushing close, lingering here and there. Clearly this was her final sally and she was using every trick she had. Her arsenal was formidable, and I knew any other man she unleashed it upon would have collapsed in a boneless heap. But…

_Too tall,_ I kept thinking. _Too tall_.

Then the music ended and she pulled back. As she curtseyed, I knew she was scanning me for any response to her. Her mouth soured. "I'm afraid I'm feeling faint…would you be so kind as to fetch me some punch?"

Ah yes, the final, parting shot. I inclined my head. "Your wish is my command, my lady."

She narrowed her eyes at the irony of my statement but I barely saw; I was making for the punch table with rage boiling through my blood.

Don't be alarmed. This rage only happens when I forget that I'm lucky to be who I am and wish I were someone else, someone who didn't have to be polite to everyone. Someone who didn't have to play elaborate, sleep-stealing, health-draining games to get what he wanted in life. It wasn't fair…

By the time I had a cup of punch in my hand, I had grown up and was perfectly calm. I stalked the room, acknowledging salutes from those I passed, searching for Tamara. Meliara was now dancing with a man I couldn't remember the name of. Her smile didn't glow as brightly, but she was still glorious. Life, the woman had stamina.

I found Tamara sitting next to a polished pillar, at least five men hovering around her, fanning and complimenting her. They cleared away for me, and Tamara smiled slowly as I handed her the cool glass. "My lord, you honor me so."

"The honor is all mine." The response was mechanical. "I beg that you will excuse me." I bowed and turned away.

"Oh but my lord, I entreat you," Tamara's voice forced me to turn. She gave me a distressed expression that would have made a Denlieff mercenary cry. "Do join us."

I bowed again, even more deeply. "I heavily regret that I must retire. Otherwise, I would be yours to command."

She nodded graciously. "Forgive me; I neglected to consider the toll that affairs of state must take on one so involved as you."

I bowed again, meeting her sharp eyes, and then made my way to Russav. He turned from the women crowding around him with a big smile and accepted my thanks with a wink.

I left the ballroom and strode down the hushed back halls. I could still smell Tamara's perfume and knew it would stay with me until I bathed, but I didn't care. Meliara had clearly been a success yet again. Life, she was a formidable creature! She had the entire court reeling. _What a queen she could be…_

I thought of the ring that my mother had given me when I reached manhood. It had a beautifully cut sapphire, the color of Meliara's eyes. Mother had told me to give it to the woman I wanted to spend my life with. I had put it away promptly. Never had such a situation seemed so unlikely.

Now, though…

Meliara's Name Day was tomorrow. I swallowed. Better get the ring out tonight, before I lost my nerve.

**Any thoughts are very welcome! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I deeply apologize that this was so long in coming. Thank you to Rayless Night, Ariellabellas, yourheartsdesire, siromygod, sylphides, singinandlovinit, :), Mrs. Dom Masbolle, The Hopeful Violinist, Solitary12, Nerds United, Meep-la, Daidairo, BACswimma, Manwathiel, Chance2, Stariciya, Nee88, Pepsi keith, and sphyre for your reviews - my gosh, you are so inspiring! And lastly, thank you for everyone's patience. You are wonderful.

Disclaimer: _Crown Duel_ belongs to Sherwood Smith!

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**Alliteration and Exhilaration**

_I would be perfectly relaxed if it killed me._

_-_

_Once upon a time, a duchess had a distinguished dog Dalphus who did dotty deeds. He defeated dastard delinquents daily and doted upon the duchess, who dramatically declared his daring-do to droves of debutantes and dukes._

I pulled back, pen hovering. I sighed angrily. No, that would never do. _This_ was much better suited –

_Moony, melancholy, monstrous Marquis._

And this.

_Once very manly, Vidanric is now a vague, vacuous vegetable. _

The pen was going to rip the paper.

_Danric is detestable._

The pen tip snapped. That was when I sat back and laughed at myself. This was not a comfortable chortle, replete with warmth and casual derision. It was more of a tight little chuckle that wanted to keep going for an insane length of time. I made it stop.

My ever-so-clever sayings were scrawled on a blank paper I had planned to use for something far more serious. I was closed up in the corner room of the library, my favorite place, trying to accomplish a little research before I joined Trishe's riding party. My spies had reported an oddly intense flow of men around two northern fortresses. I suspected the men came from Denlieff. I was combing through Galdran's old papers, searching for connections the crusty old tyrant may have had to the northern country.

Somewhere in the middle of an evil outline about increasing taxes I had _re_-remembered for the twenty-first time that it was a certain Countess' Name Day. Now I was dribbling useless words all over expensive paper, pondering in the back of my mind what that a Name Day represented. It had a surprisingly vast multitude of meanings, some of which made warmth bloom deep inside me. The sun pouring in was almost too hot…

Sometimes I think all the desires and needs and responsibilities pulling on me will rip me apart.

My mother's ring was safe in a glossy gift egg that reminded me of Meliara's eyes, waiting to be snuck into her chambers. I had discovered she planned to attend a concert that evening. She would find the ring when she returned; I didn't want to interfere with whatever Branaric had planned.

Life, I hoped he _had_ something planned. He had been absent-minded from the beginning, but now that love had a hold on him, he was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

I shook myself. Any minute Trishe's servant would show up to respectfully shoo me outdoors. I had to accomplish something or be disappointed with myself, which is always more excruciating than it should be. Do you not find it so?

I flipped the paper over, trimmed my pen anew, and resorted to the oldest tactic in the book: I wrote a large title at the top of the page, hoping it would propel me forward.

_Possible Connections_, it proclaimed ambiguously. I stared at it in awed disgust and then grimly began to underline it.

Something moved in my peripheral vision and my hand jerked. Goodbye straight line. I looked up and my skin went icy for an instant when I saw it was Meliara herself, peering around the tapestry. She looked surprised to see me, the tiny woman who had had the entire Court stumbling over its own feet last night.

Behind my calm mask, my pulse sped. I neatly put my pen down, trying to formulate a greeting that would put her at ease.

"Your mother invited me to use the library," she said unsteadily. "I thought this might be an archive."

"It is." How delightful she was. "Memoirs from kings and queens addressed specifically to heirs. Most are about laws. A few are diaries of Court life. Look around." I plucked up my pen and gestured toward the multitude of tomes. "Over there you'll find the book of laws by Turic the Third, he of the twelve thousand proclamations. Next to it is his daughter's, rescinding most of them. Or if you'd like to peruse something more recent," I pushed some of Galdran's papers forward, "here are Galdran's expenditure lists and so forth. They give a fairly comprehensive overview of his policies."

To my pleased relief, she fully entered the room and I felt it shrink to the size of a tiny closet. Oh, she was so delicate and brilliant in a pale green day dress, her small hands trying to be casual at her sides. She came right up to the desk, choosing several of the papers. Breathing her faint perfume, I could only stare as her brilliant eyes perused them.

Those lovely eyes came up. "You found these just lying around?"

"Yes. He did not expect to be defeated." _Burn it_, even if I sat back, I could still smell her perfume. "Your brother and I rode back here in haste, as soon as we could, in order to prevent looting; but such was Galdran's hold on the place that, even though the news had preceded us by two days, I found his rooms completely undisturbed. I don't think anyone believed he was really dead – they expected one of his ugly little ploys to catch out 'traitors.'"

She whistled, forcing me to repress a smile. "Wish I could have been there."

That set me off-balance. "You could have been."

Her eyes snapped up, her face blanking and then hardening. Her gaze was unfocused in thought. I hated myself for an intense second – I, who always prided myself on diplomacy, had just smacked her in the face.

I'm not going to tell you the names I called myself. You would laugh too hard and I would feel pressed to stop writing this completely.

"What you said last night, about battles and me being used to them," she said sharply. "What did you mean by that?"

"It was merely an attempt to make you laugh."

She half nodded. "I did laugh." Then she frowned. "But did you _really_ intend some kind of courtly double meaning? Hinting that I'm used to battles in the sense that I lost every one I was in? Or merely that I get into quarrels?"

"Neither. Forgive my maladroitness." _This_ was the creature I wanted to give my ring to. She was the Meliara across the campfire, a defiant captive. What was I _thinking_?

She shifted forward, a pleading tension making a fold between her eyebrows. "Well, I _don't_ get into quarrels. Except with-"

Me.

Before I could start laughing insanely again, someone tapped on the doorway, cutting Meliara off. This would be the servant from Trishe. I went to the doorway, only partly opening the tapestry. No one should know Meliara was here with me; she didn't need any more people whispering behind her back than already were.

A skinny youth bowed respectfully. "Lady Trishe's party is ready depart, my lord. She awaits your arrival."

"Please inform Lady Trishe I will be along shortly," I said. "Thank you."

I dropped the tapestry while he was still bowing. Swiveling, I felt a twang in my chest when I saw Meliara and all the emotions playing across her face. _Oh, little bird_.

"It seems that seeking your opinion will not cease to embroil us in argument, whatever the cause," I said miserably. "I apologize. I also realize trying to convince you of my good intentions is a fruitless effort, but my own conscience demanded that I make the attempt."

She stared at me, her eyes wide, her lips a thin line. She abruptly turned and rushed out. The tapestry swayed gently in her wake.

I stood there for a long, long moment. I could have covered three pages, front and back, trying to express the hopeless exhilaration and surreal, despairing expectation that tangled up my mind. Instead, I turned my back on it all and made for the stables as fast as I could.

* * *

He didn't plan anything.

Count Branaric the Lovestruck forgot his sister's Name Day. I had seen it in her face at the concert this evening. She looked dimmer somehow, her mouth and eyes flat and half-glazed as they watched the singers from across the sea. It was terrible.

Strangely, I didn't care anymore. Deep night has hushed the palace and I was more awake than I had been all day. Sitting, I stared at my candle, trying to picture her face when she saw my little gift egg.

She would be curious of course. Hesitant? What would her face do when she set eyes on the ring? Would she stare at the gift and then set it down, or pluck the ring from its nest and put it on? Did she try it on every finger and discover it fit none of them? I groaned. That was my worst fear, that the ring wouldn't fit her. I would literally try to kick myself if that happened…but I lie. I would not try to kick myself. I'm drowning in enough embarrassment already, thank you very much.

I would continue to spew my emotions over this paper, but the preceding paragraph constitutes my mind right now. Tragically, I just noticed that I changed tenses as I wrote, something I hardly ever do...I can't even think of advice from Russav! My thoughts repeat tirelessly, unchanging. It is ironic that my mind can be so very active while I sit perfectly still.

I very much doubt this situation will change as the night goes on. If you would allow me, I would suggest that you find something else to do other than remain with this paralyzed, useless man.

* * *

Sneaking around the Guest Wing would be rude.

Going to the library to see if she was there would hurt my pride.

Aimlessly wandering the grounds in a quest for her would be a massive waste of time I didn't even have.

I kept telling myself these things as I numbly went through the motions of the morning. Mother gave me a strange look when I greeted her and I wonder if Father was laughing at me…but they were not the worst.

I now stand up to make this regrettable yet necessary proclamation: Russav is a monster. A slavering, cackling monster.

I am not harried enough by affairs of state and of the heart. No, I can handle worldly, experienced Russav smirking and asking questions with his eyebrows. Of course.

Not.

We went to the dueling courts as usual. I came away more sore than I had for a very long time, and in a mood that was sorer. All my ferocious attacks on Russav had only made him smile more. It makes me feel juvenile to say it, but I despise being inexperienced and therefore an object of mocking interest.

Though I do recall…I did make him frown once when I ripped his sleeve with the tip of my blade. I had broken a rule to do that, and gladly.

I could feel myself tightening more and more as the morning progressed. Russav found me glaring at my midday meal and dragged me out into the stables for a ride. Geral, Deric, and Branaric met us there. Branaric constantly lamented the fact that he had forgotten Meliara's Name Day until riding silenced him. I could only shake my head, enjoy the wind on my neck, and wonder what we men would do if horses didn't exist.

After we returned, Russav suggested we walk through the gardens. I knew he would be raising an eyebrow at me, so I gazed steadfastly over his shoulder when I agreed.

I didn't notice the flowers and manicured bushes. I was listening for her voice, wondering if Fate would have her standing around the corner. I wished for it even as I dreaded it. If the ring was not on her hand, what would I do?

I almost walked into a statuette holding a nasty stick. The birds laughed at me.

Then there came the pleasant sound of women's voices. A flash of adrenaline hurtled through me, and it was all I could do to walk casually as we came around a tall hedge.

"Found you, Mel, Nee," Branaric cried.

Ladies. They were giant flowers, all colorful silk and glorious falls of bejeweled hair. I ravenously scanned over Lady Trishe, Lady Renna, Nee, Tamara and her coterie of flatterers…and there, in the center, I caught a glimpse of that unmistakable red blaze. I swallowed fast to moisten my throat, taking an iron control of myself. I would be perfectly relaxed if it killed me.

"What's toward?" Deric asked.

Indeed, we all wanted to know. The ladies were arranged in a sort of circle, their faces bright with some intrigue. They all looked at Tamara and Meliara.

Tamara looked at Meliara, who was stunning in deep blue. I tried to look at her hands without craning my neck, the conflicting hopes inside me almost making me dizzy.

Meliara thrust her hand forward. "Look at my ring!"

I am indebted to her. For in that simple motion, Countess Meliara Astair proved to me that yes, there _did _exist shocking, burning, soaring heights of joy that I had never known.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I don't think there's anything I can say that is sorry enough for making you all wait so long for this chapter. Wow that is a confusing sentence. All I have to say is this: I am on break and will update much more frequently to make it up to you! THANK YOU to siromygod, Daidairo, helplessromantic801, Calathiel of Mirkwood, Manwathiel, SilkenPetal, :), Coeur, sphyre, Adalon Ithilriel, Ybs, merryabandon, Rayless Night, prlygirlie, Frogster, and get-a-grip38 for your reviews! Also thank you to those who have favorited this story or put it on alert.

One more thing: thank you for being so patient with all the weird tense changes in this story. Danric likes to change tenses and well, he's a king so I can't exactly pick on him for it. ;)

Disclaimer: Sherwood Smith owns Crown Duel and I do not.

* * *

**Marvel**

_Her handwriting was rounded yet businesslike.  
_

I sense your desire for more details. Lamentably, I don't recall much after I saw the ring. I do remember that Meliara excused herself not long after we'd all walked along, pretending all was lovely. Oh, how I fought to act normal while being aware of her position the entire time. 'Aware' is an understatement…

I was ready to float up to meet the sun.

_Life_. I never realized how beautiful that ring really is. On her hand it went from attractive to breathtaking. Though I may be biased.

Thank the stars there's no Petitioner's Court today. Common people would likely find pouring out their difficulties to a grinning listener unnerving.

I sit alone in my bedroom, watching rainclouds crawl across the sky. The expensive bedclothes on my bed are mussed because of what I did after bursting in earlier – I'm afraid I was quite out of control. You would be if you had to hold in exultation for an hour.

I didn't jump on my bed, if that's what you're thinking. At least, not for a while.

This pen is frail, frail, _frail_ under the onslaught of my exultation. I'll break it if I don't set it down now. Forgive m-

* * *

"It's been confirmed, my lord. The Countess of Tlanth is on the Marquise's guest list. The invitation will arrive at the Countess' quarters this evening."

"Thank you." I tried not to give Colton a frighteningly wide smile. He bowed and left my tiny library nook, leaving me alone in the room that Meliara had discovered mere days before.

It was mid-afternoon and I had calmed down enough to tend to a few matters. This sobering news cooled the last few emotional sparks that had been ruining my concentration. I almost sighed with relief.

The Marquise of Merindar, known as the Ice Queen, was making a second maneuver in the struggle for Meliara's loyalty. She had invited Meliara to a party at her mansion three weeks hence. I knew with grim certainty that I would not be invited. I also knew that Meliara would hold the Marquise's invitation in a hand that had my ring sparkling on one finger. This was small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. I had made my move just in time.

In the presence of anyone else, I would credit my auspicious timing with luck. We have come too far together, however, and so I will give you more. I am obliged to credit my success to a network of purposefully interested ears and eyes, and my knowledge of courtly customs, such as the proper time to send out invitations.

If you wish to hear more, I shall tell you and then have my men find you and lock you in the dungeon until I see fit to release you. They say it's not too damp down there, if you stay out of the puddles.

Russav would ironically call this an excellent tribute to my 'morbid wit.' This claim would be counterfactual for I was perfectly serious.

Two glowglobes illuminated the paper-strewn surface of my desk. Rain cascaded down the floor-to-ceiling windows, the drops creating a dull thunder. I gazed at the verdant smear that was the gardens and let ferocious impatience for any sort of reaction from Meliara to consume me. What if she did nothing? What if she waltzed off with my ring? I'd have to tell my mother somehow…but that would be the least of the terrible results. She had to take some sort of action, and soon, if she wanted Remalna to have a sane king. Perhaps she wanted to rule herself. I swallowed the thought back with a flinch.

_You're not king yet_, a voice in my head reminded me. Strangely, it sounded like my mother and father speaking together…I smiled, just barely.

"What did I tell you? What did I tell you?" a new voice demanded. I looked toward the doorway and saw Russav standing there, a blazing grin revealing his sonnet-worthy teeth.

Yes, a besotted courtier _did_ write a sonnet about his teeth once. Fortunately, she never noticed mine.

"About what?" I stood up, baring my not-sonnet-worthy teeth in a grin to match his. "About how Meliara would kill herself over you?"

"Oh yes that. And how you would win her. But mostly the 'how you would win her' part." Russav chuckled, grasping my hand in a firm shake. "She accepted the ring! This is the best thing that's happened since Galdran finally ate worms. Or, the worms ate him…_are_ eating him."

Can you see why his labeling my humor 'morbid' is slightly ironic to me?

I shook my head, the strangling, hot excitement rising all over again. "It is…I am…"

"He's speechless!" Russav found this hilarious. "Danric in love is _so _amusing!" He rubbed his hands together evilly. "This is just too delicious. Has she done anything to communicate with you?"

"Not yet," I said, trying not to mutter.

"Well if she does, she'll probably want to know what you're about. You have a plan?"

I nodded.

"Don't fret, my man!" He tried to ruffle my hair, but I ducked; that trick was _so_ old. "She won't let you down," he assured me.

I wondered how he could be so confident in these matters while having Tamara's epic anger be his special privilege. Mentioning this never was a possibility though. I am not cruel. "Of course," I said. "Forgive me; I forgot you are omniscient."

He shrugged one shoulder modestly. "If I could help it I would, just for you."

I bowed deeply and he flicked my shoulder. "I heard your mother wondering where you were when I passed through the Royal Wing," he said. "You'd better report in."

I bowed again. It annoys him, you see…

"All right, all right, enough of the broken wind-up doll act," he said, exasperated.

I came up halfway, paused to eloquently look him in the eye, and bowed again.

"That little countess's really made you a new man," he growled, and gave the top of my head a brusque rub before making a quick exit.

Biting back false threats, I freed my hair from its simple binding at the base of my neck and erased his handiwork. I was about to leave when someone knocked at the door. "Come," I said.

The curtain folded aside and a young servant stepped in. He carried a platter on which perched a single piece of parchment. "Just arrived, my lord," he said.

I don't think he noticed that my 'thank you' was a croak; luckily he was too nervous. I took up the feather-light piece of parchment, opening it wide. The rain was drowned out by the adrenaline-filled hiss that had filled my ears.

An instant later, I was alone and immobile as a statue, reading the phrase scrawled on the parchment over and over again.

_The gifts are beautiful, and I thank you, but what do they mean?_

* * *

Her handwriting was rounded yet businesslike, as her signature on that historical letter had been. When she'd written _these_ beautiful words, she had felt no hostility toward whoever would receive them. She had felt no hostility toward _me_. This was staggering. And it would ruin the Marquise's day.

…_And I thank you_, she had written.

_Thank you_.

I had gotten past the prickly hedge, to the lovely woman behind. Did I even deserve to? It put me in a daze for a while, but burning delight soon brought me to life. I strode back to my rooms at a great pace. I would have run if an iron need for decorum didn't run through my veins.

"Hense," I called a little louder than necessary as two servants shut the doors of my rooms behind me. I knew my manservant was present because the bedclothes had been straightened from my earlier antics.

The older man appeared from my closet, a coat in his hands. "Yes?"

"It's time to deliver the vase," I said as I strode across the room, slipping the parchment into my tunic. "And the rose."

His lips curled into the slightest smile. He crisply set the coat aside.

"Just as you say, m'lord."

**THANKS FOR READING - I know it is short but it was such an important time for Danric, it had to be savored. More on the way soon! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **THANK YOU to Ariellabellas, siromygod, sphyre, Kendra1996, Frogster, Silken Petal, yourheartsdesire, courtingu, singinandlovinit, Ybs, The Hopeful Violinist, Crazed Fuzzle, Nerds United, and Manwathiel for your reviews! Also, thank you to those of you who are simply reading. Your time means a lot to me.

To Ybs: I'm so glad you like Danric! That makes me really happy. Thanks again for your review!!

Happy New Year!

Disclaimer: Crown Duel belongs to Sherwood Smith!

* * *

**Patient Combat**

_My entire body went taut with a strange fury, and heat flooded my face._

-

_I didn't like the idea at first. _

_Mother was going to pull Meliara away from her first Court gathering for a private interview…this discreet sort of thing was precisely what Meliara despised. She would get her first taste of duplicitous courtly maneuvers from the Renselaeuses. I'd already done enough damage; did we need to set this fierce woman more adamantly against us?_

_Upon hearing my concerns, my parents both gave me the patient 'Yes, But' look. _

"_She is going to encounter the same behavior from others with their own agendas," my mother said._

"_May as well ensure we are first in line," my father added. "We can't afford to leave her alone."_

_There's never been a truer statement. Parents…they're so often right. _

_After the party, we met in my parents' parlor to hear how the interview had gone. I could hardly sit still. My mother is a keen observer of character and there was a smile lurking around her mouth that I desperately needed explained. _

_At my advice, Mother had taken Meliara to the library. "She is quite an observant young lady," Mother said. "She even asked after the footmen."_

_That made me grin. My father's own lips twitched. _

"_The library was a perfect idea," Mother continued. "She relaxed immediately, and showed interest in the plays. I showed her the multiple versions of _The Queen from the Plains_ and I think they truly surprised her. I was able to enlighten her about the dubious nature of literature, and that authors sometimes cannot be trusted. She was very attentive and curious. Just before we left, she asked me about my hand in her escape from Galdran. I knew she was blunt but I wasn't expecting that." Mother raised a humorous eyebrow. "I do believe I was able to convey our position on the matter." She looked at me thoughtfully. "I think I confused her. I don't understand why."_

_I didn't have an answer except that anything strange about Meliara's attitude was my fault. The knowledge landed in my gut with a thump like it always did._

"_She seems quite passive, then," Father said. "She's content to simply observe."_

"_Yes that is what it seems," I said. "But she's not even been here a whole day."_

"_You said you spoke to her in Tlanth about her purpose in coming to the capitol," Mother said. "What did she say?"_

"_That she wouldn't try for the crown and she didn't want any more wars. She also mentioned that she isn't stupid enough to lend herself to the schemes of troublemakers just for the sake of making trouble." I massaged the bridge of my nose, remembering her brittle voice and blazing eyes. _

_A weighty silence prevailed for an instant. Then my father spoke gently. "Do you think she was telling the truth?"_

"_If she wasn't, she's the best liar I've ever met," I said. _

"_I agree," Mother said. "There is an unmistakable earnestness in her countenance. But you've conversed with her as well, Alaerec."_

_Father nodded, considering his hands for a moment. "Whatever she decides, she will have pure intentions. She's already demonstrated that she will passionately pursue whatever she believes in."_

"_And her willingness to come back to this place of bad memories, her cautious attitude…these both bode very well. When we first met her, she was impulsive. Since then, she has learned to observe and think before acting." Mother nodded. "I have complete confidence in her."_

"_As do I," Father said. "It's everyone else I'm worried about." _

_My mother twitched an eyebrow ruefully. I sighed. Father shrugged, rose, and stiffly made his way for the bedroom, squeezing my shoulder as he passed. Mother gave him a loving smile as he passed her. Then she turned to me and I rose quickly. _

_I didn't even have to ask; she just brushed my cheek and said, "I have never met a young lady like your Countess, Danric. I sincerely, _sincerely_ hope that I will be able to get to know her better in the future."_

_I slept better that night than I had in weeks. _

* * *

"The rose has been sent." Russav wiped his forehead on his sleeve. His sword glinted in the faint light of the glowglobes circling the gymnasium. "Now the next move is up to Meliara. You get to wait."

Life, what a change in situation that was _not. _The wave of frustration that surged up in me brought a hundred worries and questions with it. The comfort my parents' confidence had brought me was long gone. Why hadn't Meliara come to Petitioner's Court? I had openly invited her to explore. Was she truly that shy? Perhaps I had underestimated the depth of her hostility toward all things courtlike. Perhaps I didn't know her at all. If I didn't know her, why was I pursuing her? Was this whole situation going to end in tragedy? What was she doing _instead_ of going to Petitioner's Court? According to my spies, she wasn't doing anything of concern. But she was the woman who had kept Russav, Debegri, and myself running all over the countryside for ridiculous days. She was clever. What if she was doing something I didn't know about?

Most importantly: When I finally went insane and decided to move to the forest, how would I keep my favorite books dry?

I raised my blade and Russav came at me again. I tried to focus on parries and ripostes, sweat trickling down my neck.

The truth: I was scared of that tiny woman from the mountains. I was scared of what I would have to do if she allied herself with the wrong people. Remalna came first and if Meliara made a wrong choice, I would have to strike against her for the good of the country. These thoughts heralded a future so dark a glimpse of it was enough to drown me in despondency.

Despondency, however, is no match for physical pain. Russav's blade smacked me in the ribs and I was mercifully freed from the labyrinth of my mind.

"Ho…ho…ho!" Russav panted. "I'd be happy to stop now. In fact…I need to get cleaned up for Trishe's party. I…have Meliara for the first dance."

"And there's no doubt I'll have Tamara." The sharp words came out before I could stop them, a reflexive counterstrike to a blow that had fallen on raw nerves. Russav went still. His eyes narrowed. For a long instant, we glared at each other.

Then I had to lean over to catch my breath. I gingerly rubbed my side, angry with myself. When I straightened, Russav was still standing there, his expression void of its usual merriment. It looked as exhausted as I felt.

Then he pursed his lips, walked up to me, and offered me his hand. "Can't let females come between cousins," he said.

I took a deep, cleansing breath and clasped his callused hand. "Never."

He half-smiled, dark eyes gleaming. "Seems it's just us against the world, doesn't it?"

I flatly quirked an eyebrow and nodded. "…Just us."

* * *

Lord Deric, Count of Orbanith was a merry soul. He liked laughter and food and drinks and women. He rarely seemed to take anything seriously, though I suspected he was more clever and solemn than he let on.

He had just finished a dance with Meliara and was escorting her toward the romantic balcony at one end of the ballroom. Couples went out there under the pretense of getting fresh air, but the true reason was one I didn't want to think about. I watched as Meliara, beautiful in a wine-red gown, followed him into the blue twilight. I compulsively sipped my punch to distract myself from the sinking feeling that overcame me.

Russav's flirtation with Meliara, while being something he relished, meant nothing. Deric's, however, was far more serious. Alone with him in the dark, how far would she let him…?

_Slowly, Danric, slowly. _

They were probably just talking and laughing. And if she did let him…well, it was her choice. That was the end of the matter.

Those are admirable sentiments, aren't they? I can't stand them.

Trishe's party was going predictably. Tamara had sought me out for the first dance. We had gone through our normal routine, but she had seemed unusually piqued when she gave her parting curtsey. I think it was because Savona had insisted on dancing not only the first dance with Meliara, but the second as well.

Now, courtiers whirled by and the light of a hundred glowglobes illuminated the massively vaulted ceiling of the long room. I felt wonderfully invisible as I lingered beside a polished pillar to take a breath.

Meliara had to be speculating about the identity of her secret admirer – though I would have appreciated it if she'd made it more obvious. What if she came to the conclusion that Deric was the man? Perhaps she would think it was red-headed Lord Geral; he was yet _another_ who preferred her company…

Treatise on Male-to-Female Interactions for Inept Men, an In-Depth Study by One Rascal Who Knows It All

_CHAPTER 5: That Delicate Sentiment Called Jealousy_

_In every heart there lives an utterly immature, unreasonable, selfish child named Jealousy. Its purpose is to unsettle you when you are content. It will make you miserable, make you determined, and make you want to say 'gimme' over and over again. I think that Jealousy is a double-edged blade. It becomes fixated with no consideration for the goodness or badness of the object it has seized onto. It can save or ruin the day._

_Stop looking at me like that, Danric. We both know you do the wise philosopher act better than I do, but a man has to try. _

_When you grow up, you get to be jealous about Big Things like carriages, horses, houses, and fortune! This is very invigorating. But when women come into the picture, a bigger world of icky envy opens up before you. You are now free to take everything too seriously. You can passionately hate other men at the drop of a handkerchief, and plot untimely demises simply because two people held hands and You. Didn't. Like. It._

_While the opportunities for song-worthy passion are massive, the opportunities to become a twisted, bitter parody of yourself are innumerable. Jealousy should be avoided like the brown piles that dot a pasture. In order to do this, blindfold yourself, move into a cave, and eat grass for the rest of your life._

_Unfortunately, if you have to live like a normal person, there is no way to avoid jealousy. Therefore, your strategy must be a defensive one! Make sure you have loyal friends willing to listen to your plan to drown Count Whatshisname in the moat, and then kindly advise you otherwise. (Simply exiling the man would be more polite, anyway.) _

_Jealousy happens. Patience, chivalry, and self-control sometimes don't, but if they do, many messes can be avoided. Danric, of all the people I know, you are the one jealousy will have the least success with – but it won't give up without a fight. _

And it certainly wasn't.

My eye was caught by something odd on my shoulder. White dust showed harshly against the slate gray velvet of my tunic. _Ah._ Tamara's face powder. I brushed it off, then recalled a particularly close moment and brushed the side of my neck. Yes, there was powder there, too. I surreptitiously wiped my skin clean.

Back when I was playing the brainless fop, constant flirtation was as essential as good tailoring. Fortunately, my flippant persona wasn't expected to go beyond the occasional half-minded kiss, but relationships can move very fast here, under the giddy lights and sparkling windows. Would Meliara be swept away?

My cold punch glass made my hand ache. I would choke if I tried to drink. I couldn't stop wondering, burn it - _truly, how far would she let him go__?_

I forced my worries back when I saw Lady Renna Khialem slip between a laughing couple to reach me. She had a wild gleam in her eyes, and I immediately could guess what she was going to say.

"Will you be at the race next week, Danric?" she asked. "Geral and I both agree that the entire event would be a waste if you and your gray don't take part."

"I can happily assure you of our attendance," I said lightly. "We both could use a hard run."

"Marvelous!" Renna looked inordinately pleased. "It will be the best turnout yet!"

A murmur rolled through the ballroom. Servants had begun to arrange chairs and pillows in a circle. The space in the center of the circle was directly below a pure white dome that soared in the center of the vaulted ceiling. Talking expectantly, guests began to settle in. I watched the dusky doorway onto the balcony, knowing Deric and Meliara would likely come back in.

A hush suddenly fell. Renna and I both turned toward the grand entrance to see a dark-haired woman walking in. Her robes were loose and radiant and she moved with fluid grace toward the center of the room.

"This must be the singer Trishe was talking about," Renna said quietly. "She's supposed to be very good. Join me and the others?"

I didn't want to. I wanted to creepily lurk by my pillar and obsess over that balcony doorway, but that would be completely heinous of me. So I smiled, nodded, and walked with her to the front row, where Trishe and our other friends had saved us seats. On the other side of Trishe there were two empty spaces and I could guess whom they were for. I settled into a conversation with Geral who, of course, wanted to discuss next week's race.

A minute later, Meliara and Deric appeared, bring the sweet scent of flowers with them. Meliara's arm was hooked through Deric's. Her expression was all bright curiosity as she let herself be escorted to the seat beside Trishe. Her very pleased-looking escort seemed to find her more fascinating than anything else in the room.

Suddenly, most the glowglobes in the room were extinguished, casting the gathering in magical gloom. Just before the room faded into shadows, I saw that Meliara's cheeks were deeply flushed.

_Flushed_. Flushed from what?

Utter silence fell. The singer's light robes made her seem to glow. When she opened her mouth and poured music into the darkness, I heard but wasn't listening. At that moment, the rancor in my heart was spectacular. My entire body went taut with a strange fury, and heat flooded my face.

Just as the singer's voice reached an exquisite high note, a hand touched my shoulder and I jumped, swallowing the impulse to snarl. Slowly, I turned my head and saw Tamara's smile. She leaned forward to put her lips close to my ear. "Am I correct to assume that you will attend Renna's race?"

I simply inclined my head.

She gave a sigh that cooled my neck. "Good. I am confident your formidable steed will carry you to victory."

"We will see," I managed.

She sighed. "You are too modest. A man with your…_prowess_ must be allowed to take credit once without bringing down eternal shame for himself."

"Then you must forgive me, for I am not inclined to take the credit you speak of." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Russav glance our direction. Tamara must have seen it too because suddenly her hands were on my shoulders.

"You are lamentably tense, my lord." As cascades of music filled the dome and echoed around us, Tamara squeezed, making circular motions on my neck with her thumbs.

I dislodged her by slowly rolling my shoulders. A terse "You are very kind" was all I could manage.

"Anything I can do to alleviate the great burdens you bear," she whispered.

"You have my thanks." For a moment I wanted to jerk my head back and hit her in the nose. But as always, pity extinguished my annoyance. With relief, I sensed her withdraw.

I reflected dismally on the situation. The more Tamara hurt, the more aggressive she became. She was probably in as much pain as I was - as Russav was. Life, what had we become? When we were young children shrieking in the gardens, we never could have guessed what a mess we would make of everything. A desperate need to leave seized me, but I didn't move.

Separated in multiple ways from the woman I loved, surrounded by aching desires and frustrations, I sat still and bore it.

Because that is how I am strong.

**Thank you for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I am faced with the task of thanking more than a year's worth of reviewers - my gosh! A thousand thank-yous to bedlamandbroomsticks, siromygod, singinandlovinit, sylphides, SilkenPetal, Frogster, merryabandon, ybs, get-a-grip38, the wonder of you, Manwathiel, like frogs in your soup, X23 Maximoff, Maren Burk, math music reading, Dark Duchess and Shadow Queen, Mickeygee, lablondie, Penned With Love, and Sharpest Satire for reviews that electrified me and pushed me to keep trying to write this chapter. I finally made it!

Thank you to everyone who has faved or put this story on their watch. Thank you to anyone who has taken the time to read this. I am honored! I am very sorry for being so absent! :( I tried to make this chapter long for you!

Disclaimer: Crown Duel belongs to Sherwood Smith.

* * *

**The Cut and the Thrust**

_It was then that the insanity that lurks under all our pretty Court faces made a cameo appearance._

Reader, I do not think that there exists anyone in this world more merciful than you are. You have endured my waxing eloquent upon matters that do not concern you. You have endured silence in response to your pleas for news. I regret from the bottom of my heart that I cannot lay bare what happened during my silence – suffice to say the game for the crown has picked up its pace considerably. Please accept both my deep gratitude and my profoundest apologies. It is my dearest hope to not be silent again.

It is also my hope to repay you for your marvelous forbearance by telling you a tale from the Period of Silence. I am certain will amuse you because it fully disconcerted me. I need this distraction, however embarrassing the telling may prove, because tonight is the Marquise's party. Tonight, Galdran Merindar's sister will have Meliara between her sharp claws ... or slimy tentacles, depending on my mood. If the claws must change to tentacles, rest assured, you will be the first to know.

You may remember from my last address that Renna and Trishe were planning a horse race for the following week. Tamara … _indicated_ that she was confident in my riding skills. I assumed that if she attended the race at all, she would observe from the finish line, and likely try to foist upon me a square flimsy fabric - which I would be taxed with misplacing sometime during the race. However, when she arrived on horseback, her hair braided military-style and wearing a deep russet riding outfit tailored within a hairsbreadth of perfection, I realized misplacing a handkerchief would have been a lovely alternative to whatever would happen now.

Tamara has never been outwardly athletic in any way. Even when we were children, she always played the princess sitting in the shade with her skirts arranged around her. When we were too old to dementedly run around the gardens and were forced to specialize in "grown up sports," she never got into sword fighting the way the rest of our group did. However, she always enjoyed horse riding, and she can hold her own at it. The difference between us is she uses it as a tool where we use it as a reprieve. With her face and figure, riding could only become a means of unsettling arrogant suitors, and life, she has made much of it. The tales of wide-eyed men are nearly legendary. That being said, it follows that we all were surprised at her attendance. The others seemed mostly curious, but by the look on Russav's face, I was not the only one experiencing a sinking feeling.

I must take a moment to express my satisfaction with the size of the previous paragraph –it is longer than usual. My paragraphs have become disturbingly uniform as of late, which is irritating. If you cannot relate to this, then you may roll your eyes with the Russav in my head. However, if you find this amusing, then you may laugh with Meliara, as I hope this quirk would make her at least chuckle at me. Now let us proceed.

After greeting us and paying her respects to Trishe, Tamara smiled at us. I had to repress a shudder. You see, Tamara has many smiles. One makes men's knees go weak; another sends female competition away at a sprint. One beams honest delight; another whisks its charming self over a brittle interior. And one smile is so full of secret connivance it makes even the King of All Things Duplicitous (otherwise known as _me_) cringe. I've done so many cunning things myself I know trouble when I see it.

"I've just has the most amusing idea!" Tamara exclaimed, right on cue. She turned toward Trishe. "If you don't mind?"

Trishe graciously inclined her head, the ebony jeweled band on her riding hat glistening in the overcast light.

"What say you to playing a game as we race?" Tamara tapped the ends of her reins in her gloved palm. "I propose that we each give a favor to whoever we beat. A sort of reverse favor-giving, if you will."

As everyone murmured, she shot me an arch glance. Russav shifted in his saddle in an annoyed motion, forcing her to look at him. "So, if you beat me, you have to give me a favor." He paused. "Whatever I ask."

"Yes, whatever you ask," she said sweetly, "but within reason, of course."

This evoked a few chuckles. Russav's brow quirked wryly. "What if I lose to Danric? How can he give me –another male- a favor?"

"He would give his favor to the lady of your choice," Tamara responded evenly. "And if the situation repeated with two ladies, one lady would give her favor to the loser's choice of man."

Another murmur went through the group. Trishe and Renna looked amused. Geral looked a little confused. Russav was trying to look unaffected but there was a calculating gleam in his darkened eyes. Deric looked ready to laugh but his smile was forced. _Probably_, I reflected with all the glorious sullenness of a pubescent boy, _he is disappointed that Meliara isn't present and he is missing a chance to coerce a kiss from her. The twat._

"I like it," Deric said, interrupting my half-murderous meditations. "Let's do it."

Trishe and Renna were smiling as well. "Deric likes it, so we must," Trishe said. "To the starting line!"

We obeyed our hostess. I wasn't worried about finishing anywhere near Tamara – her mare was excellent but my gray could easily leave them both behind. I made sure I settled at the end of our line of seven because I wanted nothing to do with the _who-is-next-to-whom_ jostling that took place in the middle. After making sure my hat was tight on my head, I stroked my gray's neck briefly, feeling his eagerness to run. At least one of us was going to enjoy this.

Two servants stood at either end of the starting line. They both raised green and gold flags, and suddenly the tense chuckles and whispers in the line died. We all leaned forward in our saddles, barely breathing.

The flags snapped down. I dug in my heels and charged into a damp meadow with the rest. The increasing gale of our speed ripped away every thought except one: Get as far away from the mess as possible.

Our course took us into a wilder part of the grounds that had been left to its own devices exactly for races like this. This race was like any other, with neck-and-neck strains, close calls with sadistic rocks and branches, and a lot of rain down the front of one's tunic. I will not draw out the ordeal inflicted on your eyes by my handwriting by describing the entire event. Instead, let us advance to the only part of any race that matters to observers: the end.

We crossed the finish line in this order:

1. Myself (Rest assured, I write this with utter humbleness. I am simply lucky to have a natural riding talent surpassing all others, as well as a horse whose speed makes other horses want to stay home and eat oats).

2. Renna

3. Geral

4. Trishe

5. Tamara

6. Russav

7. Deric

You will note that Tamara beat Russav. This is completely preposterous – you could see it in the flag-bearer's surprised faces. Indeed, as we gathered after cooling our mounts down, there was a general air of amused shock. Russav is a better, stronger rider than Tamara and his stallion is a beast (a beast who seemed more than a little confused at having lost to Tamara's ginger mare).

I heard Deric asking Russav about a collision with a tree branch while Trishe wondered if Tamara's mare was all right after "that nasty trip." Russav looked more than a little gleeful and Tamara's expression was cosmically flat. She would not look at me. The thought of them both trying to lose to the other almost made me smile, but their disregard for their mounts made me sigh.

A mud-spattered Renna seemed to share my thoughts. "Glad nobody got hurt," she said under her breath as she joined me.

I quirked a brow in response. "What favor may I grant you, my lady?"

She smiled. "The tack you use – it is from Shevraeth, yes?"

"Handmade by the best," I said.

"I should like to borrow it for a week. I have been considering ordering some of my own but I need to make sure we both like it." She stroked her stallion's nose.

"It is yours." I bowed, and she dipped her head with a big smile.

It was then that the insanity that lurks under all our pretty Court faces made a cameo appearance.

I heard Russav name the favor he wanted from Tamara: to accompany him to the Marquise of Merindar's party. She gave her assent with a venomous smile. It was a bold move on Savona's part; those who didn't know about this game would think that Tamara was starting to prefer him again.

Deric came up to Tamara and Russav. Russav looked at him a little warily, and rightfully so – the wicked glint in Deric's eye was stronger than usual. "What is your wish?"

"The favor you would give me belongs to Tamara," Deric proclaimed. He now had everyone's attention. "I want you to order her to bestow her kiss on whomever she desires."

In that moment of insanity, someone gasped and Tamara's eyes flew to me. I am fairly certain that Russav swore to despise Deric forever and an eternity, if the stiffening of his shoulders was any indication. I wasn't feeling all that charitable toward Deric myself. My instinctive reaction was to claim a prior engagement, mount up, and scuttle away as fast as I could, but I could only wait.

In an admirable show of self-control, Russav bowed to Tamara. "Very well; you must give a kiss to whomever you wish."

She smiled and curtsied, but because I knew her, I didn't miss the glance of vicious satisfaction she gave Russav from under her lashes. I don't think you can imagine how I felt as she turned … and strode toward me. Everyone was watching, and someone tittered in the background. I couldn't move, but my gray snorted and tossed his head as he sensed my stinging consternation. I thought I had escaped something like this!

Tamara stopped a polite distance from me and my body prompted a jerky bow. Somewhere inside I was scrambling for the careless, foppish persona I had used so extensively in my past – surely he could handle this smoothly.

Tamara glanced around as if seeing our audience for the first time. She gave an embarrassed laugh. "You are my choice, your grace, but I believe I will defer until a later, more private time?"

This caused another murmur to go around the group, all of whom I fiercely wished would disappear. I gestured graciously. "Your favor is yours to bestow as you wish."

She gave me a glinting smile. "Until later, then." She turned away. It took all my effort to calmly mount up instead of staring blankly like an idiot at the air in front of my nose.

And that, my friend, is the story that is so disconcerting to me. As you can imagine, we were likely the most befuddled riding party ever to return to Athanarel's stables. I will not even try to describe anyone's state of mind, leaving it all to your capable imagination. I now wonder if this is Fate's revenge for my wager with Meliara? Whatever it may be, Tamara has not yet tried to "bestow" anything on me yet. I am left in suspense. However, this situation is merely a pinprick next to everything else I must meditate on, and for that I am perversely grateful.

And now, tonight. Tonight, Meliara will be in the Merindar house, and though all her friends will be there, we cannot interfere. In short, this is the Marquise's golden opportunity to woo the Countess, to follow up the letter she sent to Tlanth this spring.

That isn't even considering her offspring, the vacuous, puckered Lady Fialma, and he of the Beautiful Yet Blank Face -or the Flower- as Lord Flauvic is often called. I doubt Meliara has never seen facial-feature-arrangement of his caliber. I must put my faith in her hardy mountain upbringing, trust it to protect her from him. And yet I worry that it is this very upbringing that may leave her vulnerable to his outward glory.

It is raining hard, pounding and glittering on the dark windows.

I am worried.

* * *

_Life_, her eyes would always make me start inwardly. I'd seen my share of pale blue eyes, but none had the deadly arctic quality of the Marquise of Merindar's gaze. Resplendent in a gold and green gown, she inclined her head and smiled blandly. I felt like she had coated my chest with snow. "I am delighted to welcome you to my home," she said. "Please, enjoy yourself."

I bowed silently to her and moved to greet her children, willing the hairs on the back of my neck to lie back down. Fialma was as disinterested as ever, and Flauvic as unreadable as a wall. I moved into the sitting room, scanning it quickly for Meliara. She hadn't arrived yet, and probably would appear on Deric's arm. I glanced back at the Marquise, who was greeting Tamara and Russav. Both of them looked perfectly content, though I knew the whispers their appearance together was prompting would take Tamara to her limit.

Renna waved me over to the fireplace where she sat with Lord Geral, Nee, and Branaric. Nee gave me a smile that was a little wan. Before her connection with Branaric, she never would have been invited to an event like this. I gave her a reassuring smile and incline of the head, and she gave me a grateful nod. She kept glancing at the entrance, no doubt watching for Meliara - for whom I'm sure she worried as much as I did.

Branaric grinned at me. "I hear you're to be congratulated on winning a rather unusual race this morning."

I tilted my head to the side in acknowledgement. Beside me, Renna held her peace, though the corners of her mouth twitched – whether from amusement or annoyance I was uncertain.

"The event had several unexpected elements," I said, "but we enjoyed the run."

"Remind me to be absent if my cousin-in-law decides to play sportswoman again," Branaric chuckled, earning him a good-humored smack on the arm from Nee.

I caught an unmistakable flash of red hair in the corner of my eye and a hot pulse went through me. She was here. Angling my body a little to the right, I caught Renna's eye. "Tielm seemed strong today," I said. "He seems to have recovered well from that pulled muscle."

Renna smiled at my mention of her ebony stallion. "It's as if he never pulled it. He was antsy after all that rest. Oh - did you know Geral is having two new horses shipped in next week?"

"I heard something about that!" Branaric exclaimed. "What're they like?"

As Lord Geral launched into a detailed equine description that had all my friends salivating, I was able to scan the room and watch the entrance without seeming to.

Meliara had already greeted our hostess and was facing the siblings. Lady Fialma's chin was up higher than usual and she barely gave Meliara the respect of a glance. Typical.

I took an instant to nod to Russav and Tamara, who had settled on the outskirts of our group. They would not be in each other's vicinity much longer if their body language was any indicator.

Now Lord Flauvic was taking Meliara's hand, bowing over it. Their slender figures, his in black-blue and hers in deep brown, were silhouetted against the glow of the Marquise's gown. Meliara turned from him after he released her hand. Was it just me, or did she almost linger too long, gazing at him? For a moment, I was grateful she was with Deric, who swept her attention away. He led her over to our group, and they arrived in a breeze of scented air. "What's toward?" Deric asked with a relieved grin.

"Geral's bringing new horseflesh. Should arrive next week," I told him. His eyes lit up as the mania of the group infected him. As Lord Geral described the horses yet again, I covertly took Meliara in. I am aware of how this sounds like one of those deplorable sonnets that turn readers green, but it was like taking the tiniest sips of the finest wine. Her gown was made of soft brown velvet sewn with pale green gems in a vine and leaf pattern. It set off her loosely gathered blaze of hair remarkably well. One small hand curled around her fan, where it hung at her waist. She was taking her surroundings with huge, serious blue eyes. She did not look at me but once.

I saw Tamara coming long before she arrived, but she took Meliara by surprise when she touched her arm. "My dear Countess," she said, ignoring the rest of us as she drew Meliara over to her side of the group. What followed was another sally against Meliara by Tamara, with Fialma throwing in her own punches as well. They even tried to draw me into the festivities. Meliara handled it well, sipping her wine and looking cool as you please. If I wasn't waiting for the Marquise to make her move, I would have felt more proud.

At last, my suspense was ended. Under the guise of mingling with her guests, the Marquise made her way to Meliara and practically dragged her out of the room. It was done smoothly, but it was obvious enough to make the rest of us guests feel awkward after they both had gone. Conversation continued, but it was tight as all of Meliara's friends tried to swallow their tension. All I could think of was how badly I wanted to trust Meliara in that moment, and how terrible it was that my mind would not let me. Fialma and Flauvic seemed unaffected by their mother's obvious maneuver, not bothering to step in for their mother and soothe the guests' nerves. They probably didn't dare.

When the Marquise brought Meliara back, Meliara looked as calm as she had before, but a starliss blossom was tucked behind her ear. It was quite becoming, but that scented symbol for ambition made my shoulders try to tense. I forced them to relax. As the atmosphere of the room swung back into something comfortable, Renna, Nee, and Deric swiftly moved to surround her and guide her back to our group. I hung back. To go to Meliara now would be far too obvious of me.

As we all settled in for a musical performance, I made sure I kept my distance from Meliara. Though I was watchful, neither Meliara nor the Marquise revealed anything in their expressions. I reflected grimly on how different the Marquise was from her brother. She was a woman. Meliara was a woman. I was a man. I felt strangely helpless.

Women are curious creatures. Nee and my other female friends embody the side of woman I am comfortable with. On the other hand, the Marquise embodies everything about women that makes men shake in their boots. The Marquise's brother was a monster, but I understood him. She, on the other hand, has (in Russav's words), _Woman_ _Thoughts_. Please allow Russav to expound on the subject:

Treatise on Male-to-Female Interactions for Inept Men, an In-Depth Study by One Rascal Who Knows It All

_CHAPTER 6: It Doesn't Matter How Clever You Are - All Efforts are in Vain._

_Girls and boys grow up together. When we are young, our minds have their differences (ex. Girls generally get upset when boys try to fry ants with glasses), and yet we understand each other. It is as if we walk parallel roads. This benevolent time of utopian peace is short-lived, however, for girls quickly spot demented side-paths and rush off into the hills, leaving us boys down on our straight paths in confusion. Eventually the girls come back, but they are completely different. I propose that the mental heights they run to lack oxygen, inducing thought-patterns of unfathomable depth and complexity. _

_These are called Woman Thoughts. _

_Just as donkeys have Donkey Thoughts, seagulls have Seagull Thoughts, and the Hill People have Hill People Thoughts, women have Woman Thoughts. Nobody tries to understand the mental workings of donkeys, seagulls, or Hill People. However, since women are the same species as men, we are lulled into the belief that we can decipher them. _

_We can't._

_Don't argue. We just can't. _

_Yes, there are those of you who may say, "Can't never did anything." Well, I want you to see how well you stick to that philosophy when she's crying for the third time that day, and all you did was take her to a concert. See how jaunty and clever you are when she's making noises that make you cringe, her teary eyes are making your mouth cotton-dry, and that helpful part of your brain that produces speech has excused itself and gone on vacation. _

_So what must we do? Firstly, when you are frustrated and befuddled (and you will be), simply repeat this: Mysteries are marvelous. Mysteries are marvelous. Mysteries are marvelous. Because they are. We must revel in the fact that there exist creatures we don't understand - creatures that fall in love with us and make us into better men than we thought we could ever be. It is also good to develop a keen sense of when to duck and run… and always be willing to give long hugs for no (apparently) good reason. _

_Also, that spectacular gem of a metaphor at the beginning of this chapter is mine. No stealing, Danric. _

I am sorry to deprive you of more description of the event, but nothing else happened of importance. I had come in the rain; I left in the rain, returned to the palace with that starved ache that comes from being close to the one you love but never speaking to or touching her. Back in my rooms, there were letters asking for my attention, and I gratefully surrendered to their papery embrace, working into the profound hours of morning.

I briefly slept and when I woke, the rain had stopped. The sun was rising, squinting between the horizon and the receding clouds - a rare scarlet ray finding its way into my room. I sat in that bloody sun-wink and felt the worries of my world come back down. This happens every morning, and the best method of coping I've found is to just breathe.

When I could finally stand, I dragged myself toward a hot bath. I was so focused on reaching a watery haven that I almost missed it: a neatly folded, unmarked piece of parchment sitting on the table near my door. When my gaze found it, my heart skipped a beat. I stumbled to it and fumbled with the folds-

_Dear Unknown,_

I sank in the chair beside the table with a ragged breath. She had written to me!

_You probably don't want to answer a letter, but I need some advice on Court etiquette, without my asking being noised around, and who could be more closemouthed than you? Let's say I was at a party, and a high-ranking lady approached me…_

She had taken the initiative. She wanted my advice. That meant she trusted me.

I was exultant, honored-

Undone.

Loved her. _Stars above_, I loved-

_Loved her!_

**Thanks for reading! Like always, any input is welcome! Let me know if you think I've compromised anybody - we want none of that! :)**


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